Wait For Me: Carter
by bananabreakdowns
Summary: The events of Carla and Peter's wedding bring a whole new meaning to the term 'Underworld'. AU based loosely on the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.
1. Chapter 1

Peter watched as Carla took a deep breath, taking his hands in her own. He admired her beauty: the way her hair fell in a cluster of curls over her right shoulder onto the white lace fabric of her dress, and how her eyes sparkled in a way Peter had never seen before.

She cleared her throat and began to speak. He'd waited weeks to hear her vows.

"I was alone for so long, I didn't even know that I was lonely..." She began, looking down nervously. Peter gave her hands a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

"I was in the cold for so long, I didn't even realise I was cold. I turned my collar to the wind. That's just how it's always been..." She let out a little laugh, her eyes meeting Peter's once again. He hung on every word she said.

"All I've ever known is how to hold my own. But now... Well, now I want to hold you too. You take me in your arms, and suddenly there's sunlight all around me. Everything is bright and warm, and shining like it never did before. And, for a moment, I forget just how dark and cold it gets. And I want to hold you close. I don't want to ever have to let you go, and I don't want to go back to that lonely life."

Peter could feel himself welling up. He was lost in her eyes, and in her words. It was like they were alone: just the two of them, savouring every moment together.

"So, say that you'll hold me forever, and that the wind won't change on us. That we'll stay with each other, and it will always be like this. Because I love you, Peter Barlow. And I could never lose you again."

He let go of one hand, reaching up to rub his eyes. Carla had always had a way with words: often accompanied by a sharp tongue; but every so often she'd allow her softer side to show, her words poetic and meaningful.

"Peter? Go ahead." Billy smiled. Peter's hand hesitated over the pocket of his navy suit trousers, where his vows were scribbled roughly onto a scrap of paper. As he continued to gaze longingly into his lovers eyes, he quickly changed his mind. It was his turn to take her hand.

"I don't know how, or why..." He sighed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, determined to speak truly from the heart. "Who am I that I should get to hold you? But when I first saw you, all alone against the sky, it was like I'd known you all along. I knew you before we met... And yet I don't think I even fully know you yet!" He laughed, before continuing, his tone more serious now. "So, yes, I will hold you forever. The winds will never change on us. And as long as we stay together, it will always be like this."

This time, Peter reached a hand to wipe away a tear from Carla's cheek. He was determined to do things right this time. He was never going to let her slip away again. She was the love of his life, and he didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't be with her.

He broke his gaze with Carla only when Simon appeared beside him, rings in hand. As he placed the ring around Carla's slender finger, the diamond glistening as it caught the afternoon sun through the church window, he couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man alive.

"I now pronounce you lawfully married." Billy smiled as a smattering of applause echoed through the room. He turned to Peter. "Go on then, give her a smooch." He winked.

Peter smiled as Carla giggled. That sultry giggle that he'd fallen so madly in love with. He pulled her close to him, placing a gentle hand on the back of her head. He allowed his eyes to drift closed as their lips met.

A long, low whistle rang out among the congregation, presumably from Steve, followed by a bout of laughter. But Peter didn't notice. He was lost in the moment; in the kiss; in Carla.

As they exited the church, hand in hand, confetti raining down on them, Peter thought that perhaps this was the happiest he'd ever been. This was his second chance, and he was so grateful. He was determined to get things right this time.

He laughed as Carla spun round and threw her bouquet of red roses backwards into the air. The women of the congregation rushed forward, fighting to catch the flowers as they fell. He wrapped an arm around his bride's waist as they watched the commotion unfold.

"Aha!" Michelle exclaimed, holding the bouquet in the air in victory, before spinning around and pulling Robert in for a snog. Peter laughed at the surprised look on his face.

The newlyweds spent the whole car journey to the reception curled up in each other's arms. They entered the Bistro hand in hand, beaming grins plastered across their faces.

As their guests took their seats at the table, Peter lightly tapped a teaspoon against his orange juice filled champagne glass. Butterflies bubbled in his stomach. Only Simon and Michelle knew what he had planned instead of a speech, and they had thought it was a fantastic idea. He cleared his throat as the ruckus in the room died down.

"Thank you all very much for coming to celebrate this special day with us." He began, a slight waver in his voice from the nerves. "Now, I'm not going to speak for too long, because I actually have something else planned. Si?" He turned to his son, who nodded eagerly before rushing off into the Bistro office. Peter took a quick sip of his drink as he waited for Simon to return. As he reentered the room, a guitar in his hand, Peter met Carla's eye. She looked confused, to say the least. Simon handed Peter the guitar before taking his seat. Peter cleared his throat once more.

"Carla, a few weeks ago you said something that really stuck with me. Well, I thought about it long and hard and realised what I should do. So, Michelle's been giving me secret lessons..." He glanced over at her, and she gave him an encouraging thumbs up. He sat down in his chair and positioned the guitar under his arm. Carla's confused expression melted into one of endearment as Peter strummed the first chords of 'Fly Me To The Moon'.

And then he began to sing. Carla's eyes widened. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Michelle must have worked a miracle. She had never heard such an angelic, beautiful sound.

The entire room sat mesmerised as Peter serenaded his wife. Michelle beamed with pride as Peter took on every note she'd given him, producing the most perfect sound she'd ever heard.

As he finished the song, the room descended into silence. Carla let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Wow..." She breathed. She took Peters hand. "Thank you. That was beautiful..." Peter brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

"No." He said. "That's you."

She rolled her eyes, and leant in to kiss him delicately on the lips. They were interrupted by Michelle rushing over.

She wrapped her arms around Peter, pulling him into an excited, congratulatory hug. She pulled away and patted him on the shoulder.

"Slightly flat in the middle, but we'll work on it!" She teased.

"Thanks, Chelle." Peter smiled.

"So, you two have been having secret rendezvous behind my back? Should I be worried?"

"Carla, you know I would never-"

"Peter, I'm joking. Come here." She pulled him into her, wrapping her arms around him, allowing him to do the same.

They spent most of the night in each other's arms. Sat at the top table, they watched as their friends danced, laughed and celebrated their marriage. Slowly, the crowd began to dwindle, until it was only close family left.

Peter was drawn out of his daydream by Carla laughing loudly. She was pointing at a rather tipsy Michelle, who was stumbling across the dance floor towards them, swigging Riocca straight from the bottle.

"Want some?" She slurred, holding out the bottle to Carla. "It's our most expensive. Very... Grapey..."

"No thanks, babe. Staying sober, remember."

"Boring!" She dragged the word out as much as her alcohol fogged brain would allow. "I'm going home. Robert's waiting. In bed."

"Too much information..." Peter grimaced.

"Bye babe. Thank you for coming!" Carla laughed, giving her best friend a kiss on the cheek.

"I think our bed is waiting for us..." She hinted as the door of the Bistro swung closed. She grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him out of the building. Peter couldn't help but smile. This would be the first night of hundreds to come for them as a married couple, and he couldn't wait.

As they stepped out onto the street, the pouring rain hit them instantly. Peter hesitated in the doorway. Carla laughed, tottering in her heels onto the cobbles, raindrops lapping at her skin.

"Come on, Peter!" She giggled, spinning around wildly, arms extended, like a child.

"You're gonna catch a cold! I'll call us a cab."

"No, don't be silly, Peter. Come-"

The headlights came out of nowhere.

Before he had a chance to scream she was rolling over the bonnet in a cloud of white fabric. He felt as though he was frozen to the spot, as if some sinister force was physically holding him back. All he could do was watch, silently screaming, as she hit the ground and the car drove off. Finally, his legs allowed him to move.

He fell to his knees beside her broken body, the rain pounding around them diluting the blood pooling on the pavement.

He took her hand in his and held it against his heart. It felt as though it had shattered into a million pieces.

"Baby, please don't leave me." He sobbed. "Just hold on. I can't do this without you. Please, just wait for me..."

He rested his head against her chest. No breath. No heartbeat. No life.

Carla was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter woke with a start. He'd dreamt about his wedding day every night since the accident. Always the same: joy, love, elation descending into complete devastation. He didn't know how much more he could take.

At least before the funeral he'd had something to focus on. He'd done everything he could to make the day as special as it could be.

She was buried in her wedding dress, a red rose from her bouquet tucked into the hair behind her ear. Everyday Peter would visit her in the chapel of rest, telling her things he knew he couldn't tell anyone else. Occasionally, Michelle would come too.

He spent the funeral arm in arm with her and Simon, the two of them crying for the whole service. But Peter couldn't cry. It was as if his grief was too strong for tears. He'd never felt anything like it.

He hadn't gone to the wake Michelle had organised. Instead, he spent the rest of the evening by Carla's graveside.

He couldn't remember getting home, putting his pyjamas on or going to bed.

He sat up, groggily, rubbing his eyes. Pulling himself up out of bed, he stumbled through the flat into the kitchen. He was desperate for a drink. Ransacking the cupboards, he pulled out anything and everything he found. None of it, much to his disappointment, was alcoholic.

He left the kitchen a mess before moving on to the living room. He searched every drawer, every cupboard, even under the sofa. Still nothing. He turned towards the table, and the stack of unopened wedding gifts he'd sworn never to touch. It was a last resort, but he was desperate.

He tore open bags, ripped through paper, ignored the cards that fell to the floor. In the middle of the pile he found it. A bottle of whisky. It was one of those ones that came in an expensive looking box. Peter didn't care what it was, as long as it could numb his pain. It must have been a client of Carla's that bought it, he thought, as they clearly didn't know the pair very well.

With one stroke of his arm, he pushed the rest of the presents off the table. He retrieved a glass from the cabinet and sat down, bottle of whisky in front of him. He would only have one. At least, that's what he told himself.

He shakily lifted the lid from the box, taking out the bottle, and placing it beside the glass on the table. He stared at it for a moment. The poison inside looked so appealing. He just needed something to take the edge off.

He picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap as quietly as he could. He wasn't sure why he was trying to be so discreet. There was no one home: what with Simon staying with Leanne; and Carla... Well, he didn't want to think about where she was.

He poured the liquid carefully into the glass. Just enough for one gulp. Just enough to numb the pain. Deep down he knew it would always be there. He knew he could drink himself into a stupor and still feel just as heavy hearted as he had done sober.

Lifting the glass to eye level, he swirled the liquid around; watching as it coated the sides of the glass. He wasn't sure why he was stalling.

He placed the glass to his lips, ready to take a sip.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Peter jumped out of his seat, spinning around to face the voice. Upon setting eyes on the owner, he promptly dropped his glass, the sound of it shattering against the wooden floor echoing through the silent flat. Surely this couldn't be possible.

"Tina?" He whispered, analysing the tiny brunette. She smiled.

"Hi, Peter."

He was speechless.

"What are you doing here?" He stuttered. "You're dead."

"You might want to sit down..." She stated, softly, taking a step towards him. He closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. If he were hallucinating dead women, surely Carla would be the first to appear. So why was Tina stood in his front room?

He opened his eyes again. She was still there.

"I don't believe this. I thought you were dead. Rob killed you..."

"I am dead." She stated, a slight tone of irritation creeping into her words. "If you just sit down I'll explain everything."

Peter dropped down onto the sofa, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Tina hesitantly took a seat next to him, careful not to startle him anymore than she already had.

"I'm here as a messenger from the Underworld." She began, slowly.

"Underworld? But you worked in the Rovers..."

Tina sighed, exasperated.

"No, not Underworld as in the factory! Underworld as in _The _Underworld. You know, home of the dead and all that."

"You mean like... Hell?" Peter asked, alarmed. He'd grown to know Tina pretty well over the years, and would have put her down as one of the last people that would end up in Hell.

"No. That's a common misconception. Hell and the Underworld are two very different things. There's no fire in the Underworld. No burning for eternity or whatever."

"Right..."

"Anyway, I'm here to tell you that Carla successfully made the transition from life to death, and is now at peace in the Underworld." Tina smiled. "I'll be off then..." She stood up, making her way to the door.

"Hang on, you can't just leave it at that!" Peter shouted. She span around to face him. "Why you? Why are you here?"

Tina shrugged. "I wish I knew, Peter." He could hear the empathy in her voice.

Peter allowed his head to drop into his hands. As if he didn't have enough to deal with, here was a woman he believed to be dead standing in his lounge telling him his wife had successfully died. What did that even mean?

"I'm going mad." He stated.

"No, Peter. I understand that it's a lot to take in, but they thought me coming here might help bring you some comfort."

"Who's they? None of this makes any sense!"

"The Underworld Council. Peter, it's hard to explain. I just came to tell you that Carla is fine. That's all. I really can't say anything else!"

"She's fine?" He asked, sceptical. The look on Tina's face said it all. "Tina, if you're lying just to make me feel better..."

"Alright. She's not fine exactly-"

"Oh great. So not only is she dead but she's not coping well with it either." He stated, dryly. "Why are you here Tina?" He demanded. He'd had just about enough.

"Peter, you need to get her back. She doesn't belong there. All she does is call for you. She shouldn't even be there. It's not fair." He didn't think it was possible, but her words made his heart break even more. He felt utterly hopeless.

"And how the hell am I supposed to do that, Tina? Why isn't she supposed to be there? Is there something you're not telling me?" He asked. This was all too much.

"I don't know, Peter! I'm just the messenger! It's so obvious to all of us that there's something not right going on. Even Mi-"

She stopped herself. Peter noticed her eyes widen as she realised she'd said too much.

"Even who, Tina?"

She was silent.

"Tina!"

"Michelle..." She whispered.

"What?" At this point, Peter was sure he'd completely lost it.

"Just forget I said anything. Carla's in the Underworld and we're looking after her as best we can. That's all you need to know." She said, hurriedly.

"But what about Michelle?" Peter called, but he was too late. Tina had rushed out of the flat, allowing the door to slam behind her.

Peter collapsed back into the sofa, rubbing his brow with his fist. This had to be a dream; the grief talking. But he had a horrible feeling at the pit of his stomach; something telling him that this was most definitely real. There was only one option. He had to see Michelle.

She had a lot of explaining to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter stormed across the cobbles, his mind swelling with this fresh information. The air felt thick and close around him, as if a storm was brewing. He powered forward towards Victoria Court where, unbeknownst to him, Michelle was waiting.

He hesitated at the door, finger hovering over the buzzer. Carla was gone. There was no way he'd ever see her again, no matter what Michelle told him. Speaking to her wouldn't make it any better.

_You need to get her back._

Tina's words tore through his mind. What did she mean? How could he possibly get her back?

He needed to hear what Michelle had to say.

He slammed his finger into the buzzer, harder than he meant to. Instantly, Michelle picked up.

"Peter?" Her voice crackled through the speaker.

He was taken aback. Had Tina visited her too?

"Yeah..." He stammered.

"Come up."

The door clicked open. Peter pushed his way through and climbed the stairs to find Michelle waiting in the hallway. She beckoned him into the flat, quickly closing the door behind him.

"Sit down, Peter. Coffee?" Michelle gestured to the dining table, making her way towards the already filled cafetière sat on the kitchen worktop. She'd been expecting this visit for a while.

"Please." Peter agreed, gruffly, taking a seat. He felt really odd about the whole situation, and the fact that Michelle seemed to be waiting for him made him feel even more uneasy. He watched Michelle pour him a mug of coffee, before reaching into the cupboard and pulling out a bottle of Riocca. She poured the red liquid into a glass, before bringing it, along with the mug, to the table. She sat down, sighing.

"I suppose I owe you an explaination..." She said, solemnly.

"You don't say..." He mumbled, eyeing her as she took a large gulp of the wine.

"Peter, I don't know where to start." She let out a pained laugh.

"Let's start with how my wife ended up dead, shall we?" Peter stated, coldly. He tried to meet her eyes, but they were firmly trained on the glass in her hand.

"There's so much more to it than that..." She whispered, after a long, uncomfortable pause. "How much did Tina tell you?"

"Something about the Underworld, and Carla not belonging there. She said that everyone, including you, knew that she shouldn't be there."

"She shouldn't." Michelle sighed. For the first time since he'd been there, she met Peter's eyes. "I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to listen to the whole thing before you ask any questions. I doubt you'll believe it, but you have to trust me."

Peter leant back in his chair, clutching his mug tightly between his fists. Michelle took a deep breath.

"I should have died years ago."

* * *

_Michelle woke with a start. A sharp pain coursed through the back of her head and her whole body felt heavy._

_She opened her eyes slowly, bright flecks of light temporarily clouding her vision. As her sight adjusted, she began to take in her surroundings. She had no idea where she was._

_She must have only been awake for a few moments before the door of the room came slamming open, and two familiar faces rushed in._

_"Chelle! Oh my god you're here!"_

_Michelle felt herself being pulled into a tight hug. She was still disorientated, and the sudden movement made her dizzy._

_"Careful, she's still adjusting!" The other voice said. She recognised both voices instantly. But how were they here?_

_Where was here?_

_Having recovered from her dizzy spell, she allowed her eyes to open once again. She stared up into the face that she had once known so well._

_"Liam? Where am I?" Liam smiled at her recognition of him. He'd never had the chance to welcome someone to the Underworld before. He wasn't sure what to expect, but Paul had reassured him that Michelle's would be an easy transition._

_Paul himself now moved to stand above Liam, reaching out to hold his little sisters hand. _

_"Don't worry, Sis, everything's going to be fine. Everyone's been waiting so long to see you!"_

_Michelle stared blankly at her brothers, trying to take everything in. The strange room, the pain in her head, the brothers that were supposed to be..._

_Suddenly, it dawned on her._

_"Am I dead?"_

_Liam nodded, a little too eagerly for Michelle's liking. She carefully pushed herself up into a seated position on the bed._

_"What happened?"_

_"What's the last thing you remember?" Paul asked, gently. Michelle tried hard to think. She remembered leaving Weatherfield with Ciaran. She remembered boarding the cruise ship, ready and eager to start their new life together. And that's where it stopped. She couldn't remember anything else._

_"I don't know... Getting on the ship with Ciaran..." She noticed her brothers' faces drop. "What?" She questioned, feeling suddenly uneasy._

_"Don't mention him again." Paul whispered._

_"Why?" Michelle had never been so confused. _

_"It's a long story..."_

_With that, the door swung open and someone Michelle didn't recognise entered the room. He simply nodded at Paul before leaving again. Michelle shot Liam a look, hoping for some answers. All she received was an attempt at a reassuring smile. She didn't feel very reassured._

_"Right, come on you. There's someone you need to see." Paul stated, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. She wobbled slightly, dizziness returning. Liam put a gentle arm around her waist to steady her._

_She still didn't know where she was, but from what she saw as they walked, she guessed it was some kind of palace. The ceilings arched high over their heads, the walls ornately decorated in reds, purples and blacks. There were people scurrying past them at every turn, carrying flowers, plates of food and banners; as if they were preparing for some kind of party._

_They stopped in front of a large wooden door, closely guarded by two men. Paul spoke quietly to one of them, and the door was pushed open._

_She stepped inside and took in the room before her. A grand four poster bed was stood against the centre of the back wall, directly opposite the door. It's curtains were made of a purple silk, with gold trimmings lining the edges. It was all very lavish and regal. Candles lay across almost every surface, sending a flickering glow across the room._

_Michelle felt a hand on her shoulder._

_"This is your room. We have to go now, but we'll see you later." Paul explained, Michelle turned, confused. The uneasy feeling at the pit of her stomach had heightened._

_"Why can't I stay with you?" She asked, clinging tightly to his hand._

_"You'll see. Don't worry, Chelle. Everything's going to be okay. Just wait here, and make yourself at home."_

_Paul prised his hand from Michelle's, and left the room with Liam in tow._

_Michelle glanced around the room she had been left alone in. It was nothing like she'd ever had before, but everything she'd dreamt of having as a little girl, watching films about Princesses with Carla._

_Despite this, she hated it. It felt so big, and so empty. What terrified her more were the guards waiting on the other side of the door. Were they to keep people out, or her in? It felt like some luxurious prison._

_Her attention snapped towards the door as it creaked open. Her breath caught in her throat as she set eyes on the man now entering the room. Her fear slowly began to slip away._

_"Dean..." She breathed, rushing towards him. He scooped her into his arms, holding her tightly: the way he had done so many times before; the way he'd wished he could again for so many years._

_As they held each other, Michelle felt herself beginning to cry. Dean noticed, and brushed the tears from her cheeks. She'd longed for this moment for so long._

_"It's so good to see you." Dean whispered into her hair._

_It took several minutes for them to pull away from each other. When they did, Dean took Michelle's hands._

_"Everyone has waited so long to see you! I've told them all about you. They can't wait to meet their Queen!"_

_Michelle froze._

_"Their what?"_

_"You didn't know? Well, no I suppose you didn't..." Dean babbled, laughing. This was too much for Michelle to take in. "You're looking at the King of the Underworld. And of course, every King needs his Queen. And that's you!"_

_He pulled her in for another hug. This time she didn't return it. He held her close to him, desperately trying to make up for lost time._

_"I love you, Chelle. I've never stopped loving you. I've waited so long for this day. I can't believe you're finally here!"_

_He pulled away, taking her hands once again. Her face was ashen; confusion and fear etched across it. He didn't notice. As he held her hands, his thumb brushed across her fingers. He stopped, glancing down at her left hand._

_"Where's your ring?" He asked, softly. He glanced up to meet her eyes. They seemed glazed over; distant. "Chelle?"_

_She couldn't really take in the question. There was so much going on; so much to take in. The pain in her head was getting stronger._

_"What?" She managed to whisper._

_"Your wedding ring. Where is it?"_

_"I... I don't know..." Slowly, memories of her life were slipping away. She couldn't remember what she'd done with the ring, or when she had removed it. She felt another tear slip down her cheek._

_"Shh, baby, it's okay! It doesn't matter. We'll get another one! Please don't cry!" He hated seeing her like this; so frightened and unsure. "Aren't you happy to see me?"_

_"I don't know. It's a lot to take in." She stuttered. "I don't even know how I got here..."_

_"That's not important. What matters is you're here. And now we have a job to do."_

* * *

Michelle glanced up at Peter for the first time since she'd began her story, disbelief etched across his face. She went to take another sip from her glass, only to find it was empty.

"This is useless. You don't believe me, do you?" She stated. She didn't blame him. It was a ridiculous story; like something out of a fairytale. But it was the truth, and she hated every second of having to retell it.

"So, how did you die?" Peter asked. He felt silly saying it, but there was something about the way she spoke, the look on her face, that told him she was telling the truth. She shrugged.

"I never found out. He won't tell me. I stopped asking after a while. All I know is that it was while I was working on the ship with Ciaran." She flinched as she said his name, still wary all these years later of what might happen if Dean heard.

"And... How did you come back?" Peter was genuinely intrigued. After all, if Michelle could make it back from the Underworld, surely that meant Carla could too. He was desperate to see her again. Michelle sighed.

"It took a while to convince him. I was there a week before we had a massive row..."

* * *

_Michelle paced up and down the bedroom, trying to subdue the anger and hurt boiling up inside her. She was sick of this. Sick of being here. Sick of being told exactly what she could and couldn't do. Sick of being treated like an object he could do what he wanted with._

_She wanted to go back._

_The door swung open, and she turned towards it, hands on hips. He entered the room, stone faced._

_"I'm fed up with your attitude." He stated. She scoffed._

_"Really? Well I'm fed up with you!"_

_"Please don't be like this, Chelle. I worked so hard to get you here, to make everything nice for you, and this is how you treat me!"_

_"How I treat you is not the problem, Dean! It's how you're treating me! I'm not going to just follow you around silently agreeing with everything you say, while you show me off like some new pet. I'm your wife! I deserve to be treated like an equal!"_

_"No." Dean snapped, "I'm your King. I could have made you work your way up from the bottom like everyone else! But no, I risked everything to bring you here as my wife. Why is that not enough for you?"_

_Michelle recoiled. She hated when he shouted at her._

_"You just don't get it, do you?" He continued, "I broke all the rules to get you here. I waited as long as I could; gave you the chance of having more of a life than I did. But I just couldn't wait any longer. I needed you here with me!"_

_"I don't understand what you're trying to say." Michelle stated, suddenly feeling queasy._

_"You weren't supposed to die that day. You had at least 50 years left. But I wanted you with me, Chelle, because I love you that much. You mean more to me than anything in the world and I just wanted to be with you again."_

_Michelle felt bile rise in her throat. She still had years left. Years she could have spent with Ciaran. With Carla. With Ryan._

_"You can't just expect me to be happy with this..." She whispered. "I had so much to live for. Like our son, who you seem to have completely forgotten about!"_

_"I hadn't forgotten, Chelle."_

_"You haven't mentioned him once since I've been here! I'm scared, Dean! How is he going to cope without me?"_

_Dean stepped towards her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear._

_"I can bring him here, if that's what you want..." Michelle pushed him away, stomach dropping. It sounded more like a threat._

_"That's not what I meant, and you know it!"_

_"I thought you loved me, Chelle..." His voice was softer now, a hint of sadness creeping through. Michelle sighed._

_"I do, Dean. I do. But you have to let me go. I can't deal with this."_

_"But Michelle. It took so much to get you here. Just give it a few more days to get used to it. And please, try to be a little more grateful!"_

_"I didn't ask to be here!" Michelle cried, sitting down on the bed, allowing her head to fall into her hands._

_Being with Dean just one more time had been everything she'd wanted over the years since his death. But, since being reunited with him, she had come to realise that this man was not the same one she'd fallen in love with._

_Seeing her so upset made him soften. Perhaps he'd been too harsh. He couldn't expect her to adjust to this new life immediately. He sat down beside her, placing an arm over her shoulders._

_"Are you really that unhappy here?" He asked. She nodded. All she wanted was to go home._

_"I'll see what I can do." He stated, bluntly, rising to his feet. He stormed out of the room, leaving Michelle alone once again._

* * *

"So, he came up with a compromise. I spend six months a year with him in the Underworld. The rest of the year I get to spend here."

Peter took a moment to take it in. It didn't add up.

"But you've never been away for six months at a time?"

"No. I managed to work it in shifts. I'd do a few days here and there, sometimes a couple of weeks."

It was starting to make sense.

"So, all those holidays to Ireland?" Michelle nodded.

"The business trips. The weeks away." She continued.

"Right... Does Robert know?" Peter asked.

"No! God no! He probably thinks I'm having an affair or something. Which I suppose I am, in a way..."

"What about Carla? Did she know? Is that why-"

"No. No one knew." Michelle sighed. The look on her face told Peter everything.

"But you do know? Why she died, I mean."

"I've got a feeling, yeah..." Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Every time I'd go to leave, he'd ask me why I didn't want to stay. I always used Carla as an excuse. The last time I saw him, we had a big fight. He told me that I'd regret choosing her over him. I didn't think he'd do it..."

Peter could feel his temper bubbling. The love of his life was dead because of Michelle.

"I didn't go to him for weeks. I thought he'd forgotten. But then, when the storm started during the reception, I just knew. I tried my best to stop it, Peter, I promise!"

"What, by getting absolutely hammered?"

"You cannot lecture me about drinking! I went to him when I left that night. I told him I was sorry and that I'd stay if it meant he'd leave her alone. But it was too late."

"I will never forgive you for this!" Peter hissed, rubbing at the tears spilling from his eyes. He hated showing weakness in front of Michelle, but he just couldn't stop it.

"I don't expect you to..."

"You have to help me find her." Michelle seemed taken aback. No one, other than herself, had ever been allowed to leave the Underworld.

"I mean, I can try, Peter, but I can't promise anything."

"No, Michelle. You have to. It's the least you can do."

"Peter, you don't get it. Dean is more powerful than any of us realise. If he found out what we were doing, god knows what he'd do. To me, to you, to Carla."

"Michelle! Please!"

"Okay! I can take you to the Underworld, but that's the most I can do. You're on your own from there."

Peter nodded. The sudden sound of heavy rain against the window drew both of their attention.

"Oh, for gods sake, not yet..." Michelle let her head fall into her hands, "Please, not yet."

The crash of thunder confirmed her fears. They had to go.

The Underworld was calling.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter followed Michelle down the cobbled street, the collar of his denim jacket turned up against the pouring rain. The sound of Michelle's heels clipping against the stone ricocheted from the walls surrounding them, drowned out only by the occasional, furious claps of thunder.

They were the only people around: unsurprising due to the storm. There was an eery atmosphere, and the air felt heavy, as though the sky was falling in on them.

The route they were taking was a familiar one. One that he and Carla had taken together many times before. The thought of life without her had been unbearable; but now he had the opportunity to get her back.

They stopped in front of the doors of Underworld. _Of course the entrance to the Underworld would be through Underworld... _Peter thought, somewhat put out by the irony of it. He hadn't even known Michelle still had a key. He quickly followed her in as she pushed open the door, eager to seek refuge from the pouring rain. A bright light flashed through the windows of the factory, followed almost immediately by a long, low rumble.

"Alright, I'm coming!" Michelle shouted, seemingly into the air. Her strong reluctance to return to this place filled Peter with dread. He had no idea what to expect when he got there. _If _he was able to get there. He just knew that for Carla, anything was worth a try.

Michelle crossed the factory floor swiftly, whilst fumbling through the set of keys in her hands. The clinking sound of metal on metal echoed through the empty building. Walking through the once bustling factory: the place that had been Carla's palace; Peter felt automatically closer to her. This place held so many memories for him, of good times and bad. Without her here, it felt wrong. Like there was a gaping hole that could never be filled.

The sound of a key turning in a lock drew Peter's attention. He hadn't realised he'd been staring through the glass at Carla's desk. The chair she once sat on pushed neatly under the table. Her coffee mug still sat exactly where she'd left it, her lipstick pressed into the rim.

Peter joined Michelle at the door of the store cupboard. She stepped inside and flicked a switch. The single lightbulb above their heads flickered on, illuminating the cobwebs encasing the ceiling. The building had stood empty since the day before the wedding; and with no one to clean it, nature had begun to move in. Michelle closed the door, quickly locking it behind her, as though she were frightened someone would try to follow them. Peter felt a shiver down his spine. There was no going back now.

"Where now?" He heard himself whisper, as Michelle hesitated. She took a deep breath, before approaching the pile of boxes stacked up in the corner.

"Help me shift these." She stated, picking up the box at the top of the stack and laying it to the side. Peter followed her lead, and within minutes the boxes were out of the way.

The two of them stood side by side, staring at the floor where the boxes had previously stood. Peter wasn't really sure what he'd expected. Perhaps for Michelle to laugh and tell him this was all a joke. Perhaps even a set of towering gates, surrounded by fire and stone. He certainly didn't expect the manhole cover he was staring at now.

"It's through there?" He asked, disbelief dripping from his voice. Michelle nodded, tight lipped. She crouched down beside the steel lid, and reached underneath the shelving unit beside her. Peter watched as she fiddled around with the underside of the bottom shelf; his confusion temporarily ceasing as she pulled out a screwdriver attached to a sliver of duct tape.

She carefully unscrewed the bolts at each corner, before carefully securing the tool back in it's hiding place. She slipped her hand underneath a lip in the metal and slowly lifted the cover off. The sound of metal scraping against concrete as she pushed it aside made Peter cringe. She stood, stepping back to allow Peter a look into the newly exposed entryway.

He gazed down, wary of getting too close to the edge. He saw the first few rungs of a ladder, and then nothing. It was just darkness. A black abyss awaited him at the bottom. His breath caught in his throat, all of sudden frightened of the journey ahead. No wonder Michelle didn't want to go back. If this was what the entrance was like, he dreaded to think what the rest of the Underworld had in store.

He was just about ready to turn around; to give up, when the thought of Carla crossed his mind once again. He imagined her alone and frightened in this strange place, waiting and hoping that he would come and rescue her. He couldn't let her down.

He turned his attention back to Michelle. Plucking up his courage, he cleared his throat.

"Want me to go first?" He offered, gesturing to the ladder below them.

"Absolutely not." Michelle stated, folding her arms. Peter was taken aback. He was only trying to be nice.

"Why not?" He asked, defensively.

"I'm not having you climb down a ladder below me while I'm wearing a dress like this." She gestured to the flowing black material surrounding her thighs. "Now get out of my way." She nudged him aside, taking another look down the ladder. She swallowed, taking a final deep breath, before dropping down to sit on the edge. Before she could place a foot on the rung of the ladder, she heard Peter mumble.

"What now?" She rolled her eyes. She'd bickered with Peter many times before, but she wasn't sure now was really appropriate.

"It's just..." He started, nodding towards her feet. She looked down to where her foot was resting on the ladder, the ball perched on the rung, the five inch heel hovering precariously off the edge. Not ideal ladder climbing footwear, she had to admit.

"Don't worry. I've had plenty of practice..." She replied, bitterly. She twisted round, holding on to the top rung of the ladder, allowing her other foot to find a rung below her. She climbed down a few steps, before looking up at Peter once again.

"Come on, then." She beckoned, before continuing her descent.

Peter followed the same routine as Michelle: sitting beside the ladder; twisting round until he had a secure grip on the rungs. The metal was cold beneath his hands, sending an involuntary shiver through his body.

After five minutes of climbing, he chanced a look down. Michelle was significantly further below him, moving swiftly down the ladder, despite her footwear. He wasn't sure how she managed this week in, week out. He was already out of breath and, judging by the blackness below his climbing partner, they were nowhere near the bottom.

As he continued, he contemplated what could be waiting for him at the bottom. He hoped it would be Carla: standing there, looking as perfect as she had done on the day of their wedding, and every day before that. He yearned for her, wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms once again.

He had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy.

He let out an involuntary gasp as his feet unexpectedly touched down on solid ground. He turned around, expecting to find Michelle stood before him. Only she wasn't there.

"Michelle?" He called out, tentatively. There was no response. He was alone.

He tried to subdue the panic that was beginning to rise inside him. How the hell was he supposed to find Carla without the help of Michelle? How could she just leave him like that?

He glanced around, taking in his surroundings. The pavement on which he stood stretched out, seemingly for miles, into the distance; weeds poking out through cracks in the concrete. His eyes drifted upwards towards the sky. Only it wasn't a sky, as such: just darkness, stretching as far as he could see.

Peter took a deep breath, and started down the path before him. It was as good a place to start as any. After all, he'd come this far. He couldn't go back now.

He wandered aimlessly down the path for what felt like hours. He kept Carla at the forefront of his mind as a means of spurring himself on. But with every step he took, the possibility of seeing her again felt less and less. No matter how far he walked, nothing seemed to change. Just the same path, surrounded by nothingness.

After another hour of walking, his steps began to feel more and more laboured. It was then that he realised he was now climbing uphill. A wave of relief washed over him at this sudden change of environment. _Finally,_ he thought, slowly regaining an ounce of determination.

As he reached the top of the hill, his vision stretched across the scenery on the other side. The path ended a few metres from the bottom of the hill, at the edge of a huge body of water. A wooden shack stood beside the path edge, a short jetty stretching out into the water behind it. A small boat bobbed up and down on the waves at its end, attached by a padlocked chain to one of the wooden supports.

Peter felt his hopes begin to rise again. As he continued his trek down the hill, more and more details of his surroundings came into view. At the edge of the path, he noticed a sign.

_River Styx. One way trip. Cross at your own risk._

As he read the words, he felt a lump rise in his throat. He approached the riverside hut, tentatively. Through the small window in the door, he noticed shadows flickering around the room. There was someone inside.

He took a deep breath. Extending a trembling arm, he knocked as firmly as he could on the door.

It sprung open almost immediately, causing Peter to jump backwards. He gasped as the hut's occupant appeared in the doorway. This couldn't get anymore bizarre.

"Steve?" He exclaimed, somewhat relieved at seeing another familiar face.

"Peter! What are you doing here?" He asked excitedly, before his face suddenly fell. "It all got too much for you without Carla, didn't it? Oh, I'm sorry mate." He stated, pulling his friend into a tight hug.

"No, Steve, I'm not dead. I'm here to get her back." Peter explained into his shoulder. Steve pulled away again.

"Well, that's great news!" He smiled. The pair stood awkwardly for a few moments, before Peter broke the silence.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, suddenly realising that he'd seen him only days earlier, very much alive.

"I ferry people into the Underworld." He smiled, proudly. Peter looked on, confused.

"What?" He asked finally, when he was sure he couldn't come to his own suitable conclusion.

Steve gestured towards the boat resting in the water about a metre away from them. Peter frowned.

"Since when did you know how to sail a boat?" He asked, bewildered.

"Well, I don't. I'm a taxi driver aren't I? And this is a taxi."

"It's a boat..."

"It's a taxi boat!" Steve wagged a finger at him with a raised eyebrow, daring him to try and argue.

Peter rolled his eyes. His head was swimming with questions.

"But why are you here? How? I-"

Steve laughed.

"It's the curse." He stated, matter-of-factly. Peter raised an eyebrow. "The curse of dating the Queen of the Underworld..."

"Ah..." Peter nodded. From what Michelle had explained, Peter got the impression that Dean could be pretty jealous. He didn't strike him as the type of man that would be willing to share. "Let me guess, six months here, six months there?"

"You've got it."

"But... I thought Michelle was the only person that could get in and out of the Underworld?"

Steve laughed again. "Oh, this isn't the Underworld." He laughed. He turned to look across the body of water. "That's the Underworld." He pointed into the distance, where Peter could just about make out a giant wall; stretching as far as he could see.

"Right... Can you take me there?" He asked.

"Sure. Got a ticket?" Steve held out his hand, expectantly.

"No..." Peter stated, taken aback. Michelle hadn't said anything about needing a ticket.

"Then sorry mate, I can't help you." Steve shrugged, turning around and heading back inside the hut. Peter grabbed his arm.

"But we're friends aren't we? Can't you do it as a favour?"

"Sorry, Peter. No can do. Dean already hates me enough as it is. No ticket, no crossing." Once again, he turned his back on Peter, only to be pulled round again.

"No Steve, you can't just leave it like that! Where can I get a ticket?" He pressed.

"I don't know, I'm just the taxi driver! I take the tickets and I ferry people across. I don't ask where they come from!"

"You really are completely useless, aren't you?"

Steve placed a hand on his chest and let his mouth gape open, clearly offended.

"Listen, mate. You come back with a ticket, I'll ferry you across. It's as simple as that." And with that, he slammed the hut door behind him.

Peter kicked at the ground, sending a cloud of dust up into the air around him. He stared across at the jetty, where the little boat was floating in the murky water.

He crept towards it, careful not to attract Steve's attention from inside the hut. After all, he was no stranger to sailing a boat. If Steve couldn't ferry him across, then he'd do it himself.

He investigated the padlock securing the boat to the jetty. It was rusty, but still clearly intact. He gave a tug on the chain. There was no way it would give way. Sailing the boat himself was out of the question.

He stood up from where he'd been bent over, and analysed the water ahead of him. He estimated the width of the river to be just short of the length of the English Channel. It was a distance several people had been able to swim in the past, and at this point, it seemed like the only option.

He quickly removed his shoes and socks, before sitting down on the edge of the jetty. Slowly, he lowered one foot into the water below.

Almost as soon as he had submerged it, a searing pain shot through his foot and ankle. He pulled it up quickly, inspecting the damage. His whole foot was red, small blisters beginning to form over the skin. Swimming was definitely off the cards.

Peter hobbled to his feet. Tired, and in a significant amount of pain, he was just about ready to give up. He stared longingly at the wall in the distance. Even if he got across the river, how would he possibly be able to pass that?

The reality of the situation hit him like a punch in the gut. He was never going to see Carla again. He'd broken his final promise to her: never to let her down. But he just couldn't see another alternative.

He turned around, forlornly, ready to make the long and exhausting journey back to Coronation Street.

As he limped back up the jetty, abandoning his shoes at the edge, he allowed the last ounce of hope to slip away.

As he stumbled back onto the bank of the river, he took one last look at the cabin in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something he hadn't noticed before. The curved edge of something resting against the back wall was sticking out around the corner. He crept around the back of the shack, wanting to investigate the object further.

As he approached, his suspicions were confirmed. Leaning against the peeling wood sat his guitar. Tucked under the strings was a folded piece of paper. He pulled it out, carefully reading the note that had been scrawled in cursive handwriting.

_Remember what I taught you. You can do this._

_\- Chelle_

Peter reread the note several times, trying desperately to make sense of it.

_Remember what I taught you. _

Suddenly, the memory washed over him. He knew exactly what he had to do.

* * *

_"Right, what are we doing today then?" Michelle asked, perching on the edge of the Bistro office desk: watching as Peter tuned his guitar in the chair below. She felt he had pretty much perfected his wedding song, and had suggested he bring along some other options for them to work on._

_Peter reached into his guitar case, pulling out several sheets of paper. He laid them out on the desk._

_"Don't Look Back In Anger by Oasis or Imagine by John Lennon." He read. Michelle smiled at the latter._

_"Definitely Imagine..." She chuckled. Peter raised an eyebrow. She sighed._

_"It was Steve's favourite song. When we were together and I wanted something, I just had to sing him that song, and he'd crumble. He just couldn't resist my charm!" She laughed, flicking her hair dramatically over her shoulder._

_"So, what you're saying is, if I ever need anything from Steve Mcdonald, I just have to serenade him with Imagine?" Peter laughed._

_"Yep!" She nodded, with a twinkle in her eye. "He won't be able to resist..."_

* * *

Peter tuned his guitar on the way round to the front of the hut. Once outside the door, he cleared his throat. He knocked firmly, before stepping back and waiting.

There was no response. Peter sighed. He would make himself heard if it was the last thing he ever did. He had to; for Carla.

He began to strum the first chords, glad that he'd practiced hard enough to be able to remember the song off by heart.

Halfway through the first verse, the door cracked open. Steve poked his head through the gap, eyes narrowed.

As the song progressed, he opened the door further, stepping fully into the doorway. He crossed his arms against his chest, tilting his head, as if enamoured by the performance.

By the end of the song his eyes had filled with tears.

Peter let his guitar fall to his side, supported only by the strap over his shoulder. He smiled hopefully at Steve, who pulled him into a hug.

"That's my favourite song, mate. How did you know? Can you play it again?" He sniffed.

"I'll play it again if you take me across the river..." Peter bargained. Steve took a step back, eyebrow raised. Peter watched with baited breath as his face softened, and he nodded. He let out a sigh of relief, surprised that for once today something had been relatively straightforward.

They rushed down to the boat. Peter clambered in, watching while Steve pulled out the key to the padlock. Finally free from the jetty, the boat began to float ever so slowly away from the shore. Steve hopped in before it got too far, taking the oars in his hands. Peter couldn't work out how the boat itself hadn't perished in the acidic water below. He put it down to another of Dean's curses.

"Well, go on then!" Steve prompted, nodding at the guitar. Peter rolled his eyes, but repositioned it in his lap all the same. Steve was taking a huge risk for him; the least he could do was to play him a song.

This time, Steve joined in. It wasn't at all tuneful, but it made Peter feel less exposed. Once he'd finished, Steve sighed.

"One more time?" He asked. Peter put the guitar down.

"Nope. I'm afraid that's your lot." He said. Suddenly, Steve stopped rowing.

"Please?" He asked, sounding much like a child who wanted more sweets.

Peter shook his head, before a thought crossed his mind.

"I'll play it one more time if you answer my questions..." He offered. Steve thought for a moment, before pushing the oars through the water once again.

"Okay then. What do you want to know?"

"I wanna know how you got here." Peter wondered aloud.

"I've already told you, it's the-"

"Yes, the curse, I know. But how? When? Why?"

Steve let out another sigh.

"Let's just say, Michelle and I didn't have a very good honeymoon..."

"Right..."

"I don't know how, but Dean found out about the wedding. He went absolutely mad. As far as he was concerned, Chelle was still married to him. I don't remember how, but somewhere between Weatherfield and Spain, we ended up in the Underworld..."

"And..." Peter prompted. He could tell by the look on his face that there was something he didn't want Peter to know. But Peter was fed up of all the lying. Nothing could shock him anymore.

"Well that's about it, really. Michelle and Dean came to the arrangement that I'd do what she does. Six months here-"

"Six months there..." Peter finished, nodding. "So, once again, Michelle Connor ruins a perfectly innocent parties life..."

"No, Peter. It wasn't her fault. I dread to think what the alternative would have been if she hadn't talked him into this. Plus..." He trailed off shaking his head. Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing. That's it..." Steve said, quickly. He shifted in his seat.

"You're a terrible liar, do you know that?"

Steve sighed. "Alright, but you're not gonna like it."

Peter felt his pulse begin to quicken.

"He was going to kill Carla and Amy that night. He wanted to hurt us. To punish us for going behind his back. Michelle stopped him. She managed to talk him round. It was too late to stop the fire, but he was able to spare them. If it wasn't for Michelle, you'd have lost Carla years ago..."

Peter didn't know how to respond. He felt a little bad, yes, but she was still the reason Carla was dead now. On top of that, she'd abandoned him on his search for her.

Steve nodded towards the guitar. "Any more questions, or can we have another song?"

Peter picked up the guitar, thinking back to the message he'd found alongside it.

_Remember what I taught you. You can do this._

Perhaps she hadn't abandoned him after all. In fact, maybe it was quite the opposite.

It suddenly dawned on him that all those months of singing lessons hadn't just been for his wedding. There was a reason they'd continued after he'd perfected Fly Me To The Moon that stretched far beyond their mutual enjoyment of the lessons. All this time, without him knowing, Michelle had been preparing him. Getting him ready for this exact journey. If anyone knew how to manipulate the Underworld, it was her.

And now he could, too.

Peter finished his final rendition of Imagine just as they pulled up on the shore below the wall. Clinging on tightly to his guitar, he stepped out of the boat.

"Thanks, Steve..." He smiled, before turning back to gaze up at the towering wall.

"No worries, mate..." Steve replied, he too gazing up at the wall. "Hey, Peter." He called, causing his friend to spin around. "I hope you find her." He offered a genuine smile, before beginning to row the boat away, humming the tune to Imagine as he went.

Peter approached the wall, cautiously. Climbing it was out of the question. He held out a hand to it, wondering if perhaps there was an entrance concealed within the vines climbing the sides. As his hand met the stone, it felt burning hot to the touch.

He began to wander around the edge of the structure. He had no idea what he was looking for, or how long it would go on for. He wasn't sure he'd even be able to tell if he were back where he'd started, should the wall turn out to lead him in one giant circle.

All the same, he set off, keeping the wall to his right, analysing every block of stone he could see. There had to be a way in.

Much like the path he'd travelled in on, most of the wall remained the same. Stone brick stacked on stone brick, covered by several vines snaking their way up, reaching no further than a quarter of the height.

By now he knew better than to expect an obvious doorway. There would be no grand entrance to the Underworld for him. As he walked, he longed for something, anything, that could give him a clue.

The pain in his foot was getting worse, and coupled with the fact that he no longer had his shoes, he was struggling to keep going. However, he knew he couldn't stop. Somewhere, on the other side of that wall, Carla was waiting. All the pain and exhaustion would be worth it once they were together again. He couldn't stop now.

He pushed on, limping forward, eyes trained on the wall.

He nearly didn't notice it. He had become so used to the stones and the vines that this slight change went almost unnoticed. In fact, it wasn't until he'd passed that he caught it out of the corner of his eye, the breath catching in his throat as he did so. There, in front of him, was a single red rose, tucked between a vine and the stone.

The relief he felt was so strong, he could easily have cried then and there. He reached for the flower, cupping it gently in his palms. He noticed the tiny slip of paper that now lay on the floor, having fallen from the vine as he removed the rose. He picked it up, once again reading what it had to say.

_Even the walls have ears. We're listening and waiting. Don't give up now._

_\- Chelle_

It took him a few moments to work out what she meant. Was it some sort of riddle? Was Dean watching and listening through cameras in the walls? Did he have to stay quiet in order to sneak into the Underworld unnoticed?

Or did she mean it literally?

He looked up once again at the wall. It was then that he noticed the crack.

The split in the stone began right from the ground, and curved up to several inches above Peter's head. It was mostly hidden behind vines, which Peter quickly brushed to the side.

He leant his face as close to the wall as he dared, desperate to take a peek inside. But the crack was so narrow, it barely let any light through; let alone enough room to see anything.

Peter took a step back, surveying the surface.

_Even the walls have ears._

If she'd been referring to Dean spying, then how would that possibly help him cross the wall?

He took a deep breath, contemplating the fact that this was what his life had come down to. Serenading a wall in the hopes that it might reveal his dead wife.

He plucked at the strings mindlessly, trying to think of something appropriate to sing. And then it hit him. He couldn't help but laugh. It was either completely stupid, or genius. He took another step back, clearing his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." He bellowed, as if addressing a crowd at Wembley, as opposed to a pile of stone. "I give you..." He hesitated, still laughing at his choice of song.

"Wonderwall!"

He began to play, channeling his best Noel Gallagher. He allowed his eyes to drift closed as he played, really getting in to the music. He kept them clamped shut, until the last chord was strummed.

He wasn't sure he wanted to open them. If it hadn't worked, he'd have felt not only humiliated, but heartbroken.

Slowly, he built up the courage to peel his lids apart. He was shocked to see that, much to his delight, the crack had formed a complete chasm: just big enough for him to squeeze through. But better still than that, was the woman stood on the other side.

He felt his eyes welling up. All the broken pieces of his heart finally finding their way back together.

He'd made it. He'd finally found her.

And he was never going to let her go again.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter held Carla tighter than he ever had before. He ran his fingers delicately through the soft locks of her hair, before allowing his hand to rest on the back of her head.

"I didn't think I was ever going to see you again..." She whispered, her breath tickling the skin on his neck.

"I know, baby. I know..." He replied, holding her tightly to him. Her arms wrapped around his waist, body pressed into him, made breathing difficult. He didn't care.

As they pulled away from each other, Peter took Carla's face in his hands. He gazed longingly at her: green eyes gleaming with unshed tears, sunken and darkened from countless sleepless nights.

"You came to get me..." She whispered, her lips curling up ever so slightly at the corners. Peter's head inclined as he caressed her cheek gently with his thumb.

"Of course I did." He said, softly. "I couldn't bear to be without you..."

He watched as Carla's face changed: relief washed away by sudden horror.

"You haven't... You didn't-" Her breath caught in her throat.

"Baby, no." He sighed, embracing her once again. She placed her hands against his chest, allowing her head to rest against him. "Do you think I'd have to sneak in through cracks in the wall if I were dead?" He chuckled.

"I suppose not..."

"I'm going to get you home, Carla. I promise." He whispered into her hair, before placing a delicate kiss on the top of her head.

"How?" She asked, meekly. Peter sighed. He hadn't thought that far ahead.

"I suppose we'll just have to go back the way I came..." He said. He took Carla's hand, gently leading her back towards the wall.

He stopped, a look of puzzlement etched across his face. It was here that he had come in, he was sure of it. And yet, all that stood in front of him now was the intricate brickwork of the stone wall. Not so much as a crack in sight, let alone a gaping hole big enough for a man to walk through.

"But..." Peter trailed off, dumbfounded.

Having discarded his guitar on the other side of the wall in his rush to hold Carla once again, he had no means by which to tempt it back open.

They were trapped.

"Peter..." Carla whispered, realisation setting in. He draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his side.

"We're not going to give up that easily." He stated firmly. Now that he was here, with his lover by his side, he was even more determined than ever to get her home.

The pair were disturbed by the sound of someone clearing their throat a few feet away. Peter felt Carla stiffen under his arm, and subconsciously held her tighter to him. They turned and spotted Liam: hands in his pockets, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. Peter felt Carla relax slightly.

"You're really here then..." Liam stated, staring at Peter in disbelief.

"Looks like it." Peter shrugged. He felt strangely unaffected by the fact that the man he was speaking to had been dead for years. What bothered him more was the fact he had once been in love with Carla, and likewise the other way round.

"Well, I hope it was worth it." Liam stated, bluntly.

"What the hell does that mean?" Peter questioned, raising an eyebrow. Liam shrugged.

"You've put the whole of the Underworld in danger. God knows what's going to happen to Chelle and Carla now. And I'd place a hefty bet on the fact that you'll never leave here again. But, like I said: I hope it was worth it."

"Liam-" Carla started, but a shake of his head stopped her. He turned, and walked away from the pair: feet scuffing the ground as he went.

Peter couldn't bring himself to meet Carla's eyes. A heavy, weighted feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

"What have I done?" He breathed. How could he have thought this would be a good idea? He knew just how volatile Dean could be from Michelle's tales. Maybe, by coming to the Underworld, he'd sealed all of their fates.

"Come on..." Carla muttered, grabbing Peter's hand and leading him away from the wall. He hadn't known what to expect from the Underworld, but it certainly wasn't this. It looked just like any normal town: houses lined up along streets; green spaces dotted around. The only abnormal element was the giant wall encircling the place, and the adjoining castle the towered over them, casting shadows across the buildings. That, and the suffocating expanse of blackness that stretched above their heads in place of a sky.

They walked for about ten minutes, before stopping outside a small terraced house. Carla pushed open the door and invited Peter inside. As they entered the kitchen, the sound of someone running down the stairs startled Peter. He eyed Carla nervously, but relaxed somewhat when she didn't react.

"I'll put the kettle on." She stated. "There's biscuits in the pantry." She gestured towards a door at the back of the kitchen. Peter followed instructions, and headed into the pantry.

"Carla! There you are! I was worried-" He heard a woman's voice exclaim, breathlessly.

"Sorry, Hayley." Carla interjected. Peter emerged from the pantry, biscuits in hand, causing Hayley to jump.

"Peter!" She exclaimed, rushing over and pulling him into a hug. He was taken aback for a moment, but soon wrapped his arms around the woman.

"I told you he'd come, didn't I?" Carla grinned, as Hayley pulled away. "I'm going home, Hayley."

"I'm so pleased!" Hayley smiled, excitably. "Let me do that! You two sit down and catch up!" She said, shooing Carla away from the boiling kettle. Carla rolled her eyes, but sat down at the kitchen table all the same.

Peter sat down opposite, taking hold of Carla's hand across the table. He had so missed being able to hold her. He'd felt a wave of relief wash over him upon seeing Hayley. He knew that Carla felt safe with her: trusted her more than most. It was comforting to know that even though she hadn't been with him, she'd had someone else alongside her with her best interests at heart.

"So, how did you get here?" Carla asked, still not quite able to take in the fact that he was sat with her now.

Peter retold his story with as much detail as he could remember. At some point, Hayley had joined them at the table, presenting them each with a mug of coffee.

"Sounds like you've had quite a journey." She said, once he had finished, taking a sip from the mug.

"It was a bit mad, yeah." Peter agreed. "What was it like for you?" He asked, tentatively. He wasn't sure whether Carla would want to talk about it.

"I don't remember." She replied. "I just remember waking up here." She shrugged.

"It's the same for all of us." Hayley confirmed, nodding.

"Did it hurt?" Peter whispered. Carla hesitated, before answering.

"I don't remember." She settled for, hoping Peter wouldn't ask anything else.

The truth was, she couldn't remember any of the last few months of her life. Each day she woke up, she remembered less and less about what had happened in her previous life. In fact, the only reason she knew she had married Peter on the day of the accident was because Michelle had told her several times since. She couldn't bring herself to tell Peter that she couldn't remember a single moment of what would have been the happiest day of their lives.

Hayley could sense Carla's discomfort, having spoken about this very subject several times over the past few days.

"Carla, why don't you go and have a bath? You look exhausted." She suggested. Carla thought for a moment, glancing towards Peter.

"You go up, love. I'm not going anywhere." He smiled, encouragingly.

"Okay then." She decided. She rose from her chair, flashing Peter a smile, before leaving the kitchen. As she left, Peter felt Hayley lay a hand on top of his.

"I can't thank you enough for coming." She said, her voice soft.

"No, thank you for looking after her." Peter smiled as Hayley blushed.

"It's the least I could do."

"It can't have been easy, Hayley."

"Well, no. It's been awful. Not even Michelle could calm her down sometimes. All she wanted was you." Hayley confessed.

"Well, I'm here now. And I'm going to get her home." Peter stated. He had never been more determined to do anything.

"I hope you do." Hayley sighed. "Things are changing around here, Peter. Since Carla came, and the rumours that you were coming started, people have started to see Dean for what he really is..."

They were disturbed by the sound of someone pounding on the front door. Hayley glanced at Peter, before calmly making her way down the hall. As she opened the door, it burst open, and Paul came strutting down the corridor.

"Where is he?" He demanded. Turning his attention to the kitchen, he spotted Peter standing by the sink. He lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar of his t-shirt and pinning him against the kitchen counter.

"Why did you come here?" He shouted, fury in his eyes. Peter shoved him away.

"You know exactly why." He stated, as calmly as possible.

"Did the consequences of what you're doing not cross your mind at all? Do you not understand what's happening?" Paul continued to yell.

"Paul, calm down!" Hayley pleaded.

"How can I calm down? He has destroyed everything." He shouted, before turning back to Peter. This time, he kept his voice low. "Dean's got everyone out looking for our Chelle. He knows you're here. God knows what he's going to do."

"She'll talk him round." Peter stated.

"You better pray that she does, or Dean is going to be the least of your worries. Do you understand me?" Paul threatened, through gritted teeth.

Peter just stared back, maintaining a strong front. But underneath, he couldn't deny that he was frightened. All he'd focussed on was getting Carla back. He hadn't stopped to think about the consequences if he didn't succeed.

Although, Michelle must have thought there was some chance they'd make it: why else would she have told him everything she had? Taught him everything he needed to know?

Another knock on the door disturbed them. Hayley rolled her eyes, leaving the room to open it.

"Is Paul here?" Peter heard Liam say. He sounded breathless, as though he'd run a mile to find them. A few moments later, he appeared in the kitchen.

"They've found her." He panted. "She's talking to Dean now."

"This is it then..." Paul stated, slumping down into a chair at the table. Liam nodded.

"Let's just hope she can convince him."

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" Michelle asked, innocently: heart pounding in her chest. Dean looked up from the papers on the desk he'd previously been focussed on; lips set in a thin line.

"Where have you been, Chelle?" He asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

"I went for a walk..." She lied. Dean sighed.

"I can read you like a book, babe. I know when you're lying to me." He stated, rising from his chair.

"Dean..."

"You brought him here, didn't you?"

"Who?" She asked, feigning ignorance.

"You know who, Chelle."

"You can't pin this on me, Dean..." She said, voice barely above a whisper.

"How did he get here?" Dean demanded.

"I don't know!" She snapped, rage beginning to bubble in the pit of her stomach. How dare he treat her like this: make her feel so small; like she really had done something wrong.

"I don't believe you." He said, coldly. Michelle could feel the tears beginning to bubble, and quickly blinked them away. There was no way she'd show him any weakness.

"What are you so afraid of?" She shot. Dean appeared taken aback.

"What?"

"He's just in love. That's hardly a threat to you, is it?"

"Chelle, he could ruin everything."

Up until today, Dean had the perfect life, in this perfect world that he'd created. His citizens looked up to him: respected him. They would do anything he wanted. He had made sure of that long ago. But now, with Peter Barlow roaming the streets telling everyone that would listen that he was going to take Carla home, a wave of unrest had rippled through the Underworld. If he was able to show people that there was a way out, then by the end of the week there would be no one left. Dean would lose everything.

"He doesn't care about the Underworld! He just wants to be with Carla. Why can't you just let them be together?" Michelle tried to reason.

"It's not that easy."

Michelle sighed, taking a deep breath. She took a step towards him, taking his hand in hers.

"Explain it to me, then." She said, her voice gentle. "Why is it so bad him being here?"

Dean felt sick with dread. His final cunning plan had begun to unravel. Bringing Carla to the Underworld was supposed to make things better. All it did was bring a whole heap of trouble.

"It's not supposed to be like this. I need him gone." Dean stated, sharply.

"Then let him go. He'll take Carla with him, and everything will go back to normal." She explained, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb.

"You know I can't do that." He said, flippantly.

"Why not?" Michelle snapped, frustrated. Dean remained silent, distracted by his own thoughts. She lowered her voice. "Is this because I wouldn't stay here with you?"

Dean's eyes met hers. He didn't want to outwardly admit it. He'd just thought that by bringing her best friend here, Michelle would be more inclined to stay. Or at the very least, it would teach her a lesson.

Michelle's stomach dropped at the expression plastered across his face. Without even having to speak, he'd confirmed her worst fear: Carla was here as a punishment for her.

She snatched her hand away from his, bringing it up to her mouth in an attempt to hide the shock of the realisation. After a few moments, she dropped her arm back to her side.

"Then I'll stay." She whispered, eyes dropping to the ground. She couldn't bear to look at him. "If that's what it takes. Just please let them go."

She met his eye once more when he failed to respond. He simply shook his head slowly.

"I can't make you do that, Chelle." He said. Michelle let out a breath, exasperated.

"Is this not what you want?" She snapped.

"Yes. But it's not what you want. If I make you stay, you'll just end up resenting me. And I love you too much to let that happen."

"Then why do it in the first place, Dean?"

"I was angry. I'm sorry Chelle." For just an instant, something resembling guilt flashed across Dean's face. Michelle felt as though his hard exterior was finally beginning to crack. If she just pushed a little further...

"You can make this right..." She whispered, taking a step towards him again. "You let me go, so you can let her go."

"I can't do that, Chelle."

"Why not? What's the difference?" Michelle questioned, exasperated.

"The difference is that I care about you, Chelle. Carla means nothing to me."

Michelle paused for a moment, before lowering her voice.

"But she means everything to him. Please just let them go."

Dean met her eyes once again. What had previously been anger in them had subsided to a look of pain. At this, his hardened barrier melted away entirely. Michelle couldn't remember the last time, if ever, she'd seen him look like this. So unsure. So vulnerable. So human.

"I don't know what to do." He whispered, partially to her, but mostly to himself.

It was true: he was in an impossible position. Should he let them go, it would encourage others to follow suit. Should he make Carla stay, he would have a martyr on his hands, and the people that had come to respect him would hate him for being so cruel. Everything he'd worked so hard to build would be torn apart in a matter of days, no matter what he decided. He was trapped between a rock and a hard place.

Michelle softened, a plan beginning to form in her head.

"You don't have to do anything." She reassured him. Dean furrowed his brow. "We'll call an Underworld Council meeting. They can decide what to do. They'll act like an impartial body. Peter and Carla can state their case, and you can state yours. Then we'll leave it up to them."

Dean thought for a moment. Leaving the Underworld Council in charge would leave him free of any guilt, but at the same time would also take away some of his power. Although, it didn't look as though he had much choice. After a few moments, he nodded.

"Okay then. But if I change my mind-"

"You can make the final decision." Michelle finished. Dean nodded, tight lipped. He reached for her arm, pulling her gently towards him. He wrapped his arms around her, embracing her.

"I love you." He said. Michelle nodded.

"I know." He let his arms fall once again to his sides. Michelle took a step back. "Would you like me to organise the meeting?" She offered.

"No, it's okay. I'll do it." Dean replied, returning to the other side of the desk. "Go and see Carla. I know that's what you really want." He stated, somewhat bitterly.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" She tested. He shrugged. She headed to the door. Placing her hand on the handle, she turned.

"Dean?" He lifted his head from its focus point on the desk, and raised an eyebrow. "I love you too."

Before he had chance to change his mind, she sped out of the door. She practically ran to Carla's house, banging on the door with a force so hard it felt as though she might go through.

It was Liam who opened the door.

"Oh thank god." He breathed, upon laying eyes on his sister. "Quick, come in."

He guided her down the hallway towards the kitchen, where the rest of the inhabitants were waiting: Hayley busy by the kettle; Paul at the table, head in hands: Carla sat in Peter's lap, arms draped around his neck, head resting on his shoulder.

At hearing them enter the room, Paul raised his head. He quickly rose from his seat, wrapping a protective arm around her and guiding her to sit down.

"What did he say?" He quizzed, voice full of alarm. Michelle shrugged. She glanced at Carla, who's eyes were fixed on her, wide with anticipation

"He said he doesn't know what to do." She said.

"But he's not angry?" Paul pushed.

"He's fuming." She explained, bluntly. "But he's scared too. I haven't seen him like that before. He was so unsure... So vulnerable."

"What are you saying Chelle?" Liam asked. "What's he gonna do?"

"Nothing." She stated. Silence billowed through the room. Paul raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue.

"Because you are."

Paul and Liam shot her a confused glance.

"As long as we play our cards right, they'll be home by tomorrow."

Carla smiled at Peter, her face awash with relief. He held her tightly to him.

"What do you mean?" Paul pushed.

"I persuaded him to take it to the Underworld Council. We just have to agree to let them go, and that'll be that." She confirmed. The entire room let out a collective sigh of relief. Except Peter, who still looked confused.

"Who's on the Underworld Council then?" He pushed. Michelle smiled, as she, Paul, Liam and Hayley all raised their hands. Peter couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"Sis, you're a genius." Liam stated.

"Anyone for celebratory tea?" Hayley sang, waving the kettle in the air. Murmurs of agreement ruffled through the room: the atmosphere suddenly more relaxed.

But there was one thought still niggling away at Michelle, leaving her on edge.

_Just as long as he doesn't change his mind._


	6. Chapter 6

Peter and Carla sat outside the meeting room entangled in each other's arms: their breathing rhythmical and in time with one another. Neither one spoke, in fear of breaking the connection they had made. With each simultaneous breath they took they felt closer, like two people merging into one. There was no way they could be parted again.

Peter planted a soothing kiss on the top of Carla's head, fingers twizzling and tangling her hair. He allowed his eyes to drift closed: savouring the moment; the feeling of her body pressed against his as she leant into him on the bench. The rise and fall of her chest mimicking his own as their lungs expanded concurrently.

It was the opening of the door beside them that finally caused Carla's breathing to falter. Michelle stepped into the hallway: lips set in a thin line; dark circles beneath her eyes barely covered by her make up. The anticipation had taken its toll on them all.

After Michelle had revealed the outcome of her talk with Dean, the meeting had been scheduled for the following day. Peter spent the night curled up with Carla, neither party able to sleep. Instead, they spent the night talking: reminiscing of days gone by; contemplating what the future may hold. Carla pretending to know what Peter was talking about whenever their wedding was mentioned.

It was now, as they sat together silently in the corridor, that Peter struggled to keep the doubt from creeping in. It had been so easy in the delirium of the previous night to keep the 'what ifs' at bay: but now they were out in full force.

What if the Underworld Council refused to let them go? What if he was forced to leave Carla behind forever? What if everything he had worked towards ended up being for nothing?

He felt himself involuntarily pulling Carla closer to him, as Michelle began to speak.

"I think they're ready." She stated. She took a shaky breath. Her nervous disposition concerned Peter. She had seemed so confident yesterday evening, even going so far as to crack open a bottle of champagne: which, of course, Peter had abstained from.

"What's up, Chelle?" Carla questioned, sitting up from her slouched position, having also picked up on her friend's mood.

"Nothing." She stated, before taking another deep breath. Peter raised an eyebrow, as the feeling of unease coursing through him began to heighten. "I just really hope this works."

Carla rose to her feet, pulling her best friend into a tight hug, which Michelle returned gratefully.

"Why wouldn't it?" Carla quizzed gently. Michelle simply shrugged. Carla took hold of her shoulders, holding her at arms length. "Everyone on that Council has my best interests at heart. I don't know how you managed to get Dean to agree, but you did." She laughed. Michelle kept her eyes fixed on the ground between them. Peter watched as the smile faded from Carla's face. "What aren't you telling us, Chelle?"

Peter watched as Michelle bit her trembling lower lip.

"Dean made me promise that whatever the outcome, if he changed his mind then he'd get the final say." A tear rolled down her cheek, which Carla wiped away with her thumb. She took her friend's chin in her hand, forcing her to look into her eyes, before offering an encouraging smile.

"And how likely do you think he'll be to do that, considering how the rest of the Council will feel?" Carla pointed out. She took Michelle's hand in hers, squeezing it reassuringly.

"I just have this horrible feeling..." Michelle choked out between tears.

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence..." Peter muttered.

"Peter!" Carla snapped, shooting him a warning look.

In truth, he shared Michelle's fears. He couldn't help the feeling that something was inevitably going to go wrong. He was startled by Paul poking his head around the doorway.

"Are you coming or what?" He asked, glancing between the trio. His eyes fell upon Michelle swiftly trying to wipe away her tears, and he stepped into the corridor, quietly closing the door behind him.

"You need to calm down before Dean sees you." He stated firmly, his voice low. Michelle nodded knowingly, before feeling Carla's arm tighten around her waist.

Paul despised the way Dean treated his little sister, and loathed even more the fact that there was nothing he could do about it. _Until now,_ he suddenly realised. Up until this point, he honestly hadn't been sure which way he should vote. He had enjoyed having Carla around again, and had been plagued by jealousy ever since Peter's arrival. But now he realised that agreeing to let her go would be the best revenge against Dean he could possibly get.

Michelle took a deep breath, nodding at Paul to open the door. Peter rose from his seat on the bench as Michelle squeezed Carla's hand, placing a light kiss on her cheek. She turned to him, pulling him into a hug.

"Good luck." She whispered. Peter nodded his thanks, before following them into the room.

He stopped in the centre, watching as Michelle and Paul took their seats either side of Dean. He felt Carla press against him, and snaked an arm around her waist, holding her close. His eyes flitted between each person at the table, analysing their features, eager to get some idea of which way they'd vote. He needed to know if they stood any chance.

First was Hayley, an obvious advocate for Carla going home with him. She offered him a smile: an attempt at reassurance. He had come to understand why Carla had become so fond of this woman.

Next sat Liam, fingers drumming impatiently on the table. Peter wasn't sure which way this one would go. He knew how he felt about Carla, and didn't know whether he'd selfishly make her stay. He wouldn't know if he'd be able to bear it, knowing she were here, alone, with him.

Michelle sat between Liam and Dean, gaze firmly set on the tabletop in front of her. He knew exactly where she stood, it was just a question of whether she'd be able to defy Dean quite so openly.

On Dean's other side was Paul: another one Peter couldn't predict the outcome for.

Next to him sat Tina: the whole reason he was here in the first place. After their conversation that morning in his flat, he had no doubts that she was on his side. She flashed him a nervous smile.

On the end of the table, Aidan sat, shifting awkwardly in his seat. As Carla's brother, he'd surely have her best interests at heart. Peter could only hope.

Dean cleared his throat, and Peter's eyes rested upon him. The two men had never met, but both recognised the other instantly.

"This meeting is in session." Dean stated, his voice authoritative. "Hayley, I trust you'll take the minutes as usual?"

"Of course." She replied, waving a pen in the air and winking at Carla.

"Presumably you all know our guests..." Dean continued, gesturing to the pair stood clutching each other in the middle of the room. "Perhaps you should tell everyone why you're here, Peter." He narrowed his eyes, waiting for Peter to explain himself.

Peter felt all eyes on him. He cleared his throat and looked Dean straight in the eyes.

"I've come to take Carla home." He stated, calmly. Dean let out a laugh, receiving a glare from Michelle.

"Oh really? And what on Earth gave you that idea?"

Peter furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Dean sighed.

"Let me take it back a little. How did you find out about the Underworld?"

Peter took a moment to compose his thoughts: remembering the day he had initially discovered its existence.

"Well, Tina-"

"Tina?" Dean questioned, glaring down the table to where the small brunette was sat.

"Tina came to see me." Peter finished, irritated by Dean's interruption.

"We agreed to send her, remember?" Michelle said softly, placing a hand on top of his on the table.

"Shut it." He demanded, snatching his hand away. As Michelle flinched and averted her gaze back to the tabletop in front of her, Peter noticed Paul's hands clench into fists. "And what exactly did Tina say?"

Peter knew he had to be careful. The way Dean was looking at him told him he was just waiting for him to trip up; waiting for an excuse to lash out. The look in his eyes was unhinged, and Peter found it terrifying.

"She told me that Carla had successfully made the transition to the Underworld." Peter said slowly, recalling the conversation they'd had that morning. He glanced in Tina's direction, hoping she'd be able to help him out. She was sat bolt upright, eyes wide, hanging on every word.

"Was that it?" Dean pushed. Carla glanced at Peter, a look of concern on her face.

"Yes." Peter lied. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really? So she told you that and you thought: 'Right, better go get Carla', and had a lucky guess at finding your way down here?"

"You could say that, yeah..." Peter said. Dean laughed. He wasn't convincing anyone.

"I don't believe you, Peter."

"I thought we were here to debate us leaving, not how I got here." Peter stated, defiantly.

"Your being here is a pretty big security issue. That's something the Underworld Council take very seriously." He replied, condescendingly. "So, was it just Tina you spoke to?"

"Why would I have had any reason to speak to anyone else?" Peter asked, through gritted teeth.

"What did Tina really say to you Peter?" Dean pushed.

Peter remained silent, simply shaking his head. Anything he said would land one of them in trouble. He couldn't risk it. Dean smirked, Peter's silence saying more than words ever could.

"Well, I've clearly heard all I need to hear on that matter. Tina, go and wait for me in my office." Michelle lifted her head to glance at Peter, who shot her an equally confused and concerned look.

"Why?" Tina asked, meekly.

"Because, from Mr Barlow's account, you're the only one he spoke to that day-"

"Dean." Michelle warned. He took no notice.

"So it must have been you that brought him here. I can't have someone I can't trust on my Council, Tina. So run along like a good girl and I'll deal with you later."

"Dean, please!" Michelle demanded, her voice louder and stronger this time.

"Yes, my love?" Dean turned his attention towards her.

"You know full well it wasn't her that brought him here." She hissed. Deans lips curled up at the corner.

"Then who did, darling?" He teased. She kept her gaze firmly on the table. "Come on, Chelle. I need to hear you say it."

She looked up, and glared him straight in the eyes.

"I did." She spat. Peter felt Carla let out a breath.

"And the truth comes out..." Dean stared at Michelle for a moment, before pushing his chair back from underneath the table and standing up. Grabbing Michelle's arm, he pulled her to her feet, ignoring the whimper of pain she let out.

"If you'd excuse us, my wife and I are going to have a little chat." He spat.

Paul and Liam stood up simultaneously.

"Absolutely not!" Paul warned, pulling Dean's shoulder round so they were face to face. The two men squared up to each other: neither one speaking, but each tearing the other apart with their eyes. Peter felt as though he could cut the tension with a knife.

"Erm, perhaps we should get back on track?" Hayley suggested, desperately trying to diffuse the situation. A mumble of agreement echoed among the other Council members.

"Fine." Dean huffed, taking his seat once again. The Connor siblings followed, all understandably on edge. "So, Peter. Michelle brought you here?"

"Not exactly, no." Peter stated, truthfully. Dean raised an eyebrow. "She just pushed me in the right direction."

"How so?"

"How do you think?" Michelle snapped. Dean looked at her curiously. He thought back to Michelle informing him of Peter's desire to sing to Carla at their wedding. He remembered how they'd joked about her ability to make Dean to do anything she wanted, simply by singing him a song. He quickly put two and two together.

"Oh! The singing lessons! I have to say, Michelle, that was very resourceful of you." He chuckled. "Come on then, let's hear one."

Peter stood with his mouth agape, unsure as to whether or not Dean was being serious.

"What?" He mustered. Dean laughed.

"Well, obviously that was the plan. Serenade me into submission like you have done every other poor soul you've come across so far. I mean, it's not going to work, but I'll humour you at least."

"I haven't got my guitar."

"Well that's hardly an issue, is it? I believe they call it singing a capella. Unless you're not that bothered about Carla going home with you, in which case you can forget about the song." Dean smirked.

Peter took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that smile of his smarmy face.

"What song would you like?"

"Now, that would be far too easy!" He laughed, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms. Peter sighed.

He felt Carla take his hand and turned to look at her. She offered an encouraging smile.

"Sing our song." She whispered, taking hold of his other hand too. The last time they'd stood like this, hand in hand, face to face, was on their wedding day. Peter felt his heart begin to race. "Forget about him. It's just me and you. I want to hear you sing it."

Carla, having no recollection of him singing to her before, was desperate to hear him. She wanted more than anything to experience the feeling everyone else seemed to have had when hearing Peter sing.

Peter took a deep breath, and leant his forehead against hers. Quietly, he began to sing.

_Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars._

"I can't hear you!" Dean called out, smirking once again. Peter raised his voice.

_Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars._

Carla smiled slightly, tilting her head to glare at Dean in defiance. She wrapped her arms around Peter, and began to sing along.

_In other words, hold my hand._

Michelle glanced at Dean through the corner of her eye. He was now sat leaning forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands. She gently reached out, taking one in hers: hoping it would soften him slightly.

_In other words, baby kiss me._

Hayley smiled, the song prompting a distant memory from her all but forgotten previous life. The words were slowly coming back to her, and she too joined in.

_Fill my heart with song and let me sing forever more._

Aidan, who had previously sat silently on the end of the table, watching the drama unfold, couldn't help but be touched at the sight of his sister so happy. He hadn't seen her smile once since she'd arrived. It filled him with a hope he had previously lost, and he too began to sing.

_You are all I long for, all I worship and adore._

By this point, most of the table had joined in. It was now just Michelle, who sat staring at Dean, willing it to have some sort of effect on him. She wanted nothing more than for

it to be the man she fell in love with sat before her: not the monster he'd turned into. She couldn't bring herself to join in. She couldn't sing that song, those words of love and adoration, to the man that sat next to her now. Not when it meant so much to the couple in front of them, who serenaded each other and meant every word.

_In other words, please be true. In other words,_

"I love you." Peter spoke the last three words, barely above a whisper: his eyes fixed on Carla's.

The sound of slow clapping echoed through the room. Peter turned his attention back to Dean, whose face was set with a smug look that didn't disguise the fiery rage behind his eyes.

"Well wasn't that touching." He stated coldly. "But like I said, it won't work on me."

"Then it's a good job we're the ones they're trying to win round." Liam stated. Dean chuckled.

"Yes, thank you, Liam. I hadn't forgotten."

"Then maybe we should get on with making the decision?" Liam pressed. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Okay, go on then."

"All in favour of letting Carla leave with Peter, raise your hands." Liam stated, instantly raising his arm high. Next to him, Michelle timidly raised hers, ignoring the look of disgust on her husbands face. Liam glanced around. All hands were raised, except one.

"Aidan?" Carla questioned, her voice small, a hurt look struck across her face. Peter felt his stomach flip.

"I... I dunno, sis. I've enjoyed having you here. Spending time with you again. I know you don't want to stay here, but can't we work out a compromise?"

"Like what, Aidan?" Hayley asked, kindly.

"I don't know. Perhaps Peter would agree to stay here with her. Or maybe she could do what Michelle does. You know, come and go between the two."

"Sorry, I'm putting my foot down here. She either stays or she goes." Dean stated.

"Aidan? We need a full house for the decision to be made." Hayley said, softly. He shrugged.

"Please, Aidan..." Carla whispered, eyes brimming with unshed tears. He sighed.

"Okay then." He agreed, raising his hand.

Carla and Peter let out a simultaneous breath. Peter scooped her up in his arms and held her in a warm embrace.

"So you've all agreed that they can go?" Dean questioned. The congregation nodded. "And I'm sure Michelle informed you of the terms of our agreement."

Michelle stiffened. She felt the room turn, all eyes resting on her. Surely he wouldn't?

"Oh? She didn't?" He smirked.

"If you change your mind, then you get final say. That was the agreement." Carla snapped. Dean was taken by surprise. Peter watched as Carla shared a smug glance with Michelle, the pair silently celebrating getting one over on Dean. He couldn't help but smirk too.

"So tell me. Why should I risk everything and let her go with you, Peter?"

"Wait, you're really doing this?" Paul quizzed, his voice dripping with disbelief. "You really planned to make them go through all of this and then humiliate them by saying no?"

"I haven't decided whether it's going to be a no yet, Paul."

"Oh, cut the bull, Dean. You get off on these sick power trips. You had absolutely no intention of letting her go with him, it was all just part of some sick game." Paul stood up, his chair toppling backwards as he pushed it away.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked, calmly, as Paul strode around to the other side of the table.

"I'm getting ready to leave. As soon as you say 'no', I'm going. You can kiss your Council goodbye."

Liam stood up, quietly, making his way to join his brother. One by one, each member of the Council left their chairs, standing side by side with Carla and Peter.

Peter shot a questioning glance to Michelle, who remained seated beside her husband. He furrowed his brow, unsure of where her loyalties truly lay. She countered his glance with an apologetic one, her eyes turning glassy with tears once again. Peter looked down, finally spotting the vice like grip Dean had on her wrist.

"Why did you choose to let Michelle go?" Peter dared ask. Dean was caught off guard.

"What?"

"Why did you agree to let Michelle leave?" Peter pushed.

"Because I love her." Dean stated, without missing a beat.

"Then why do you insist on punishing her every time she chooses to go?"

"I-"

"Because we all know that's the only reason Carla's here. So tell me, why do it?"

"I don't like the idea that she may never come back." Dean said, matter-of-factly; his voice emotionless.

"And why's that?" Peter continued.

"Because I couldn't bear to be without her." Peter could have sworn he'd heard a slight crack in Dean's voice, and allowed himself to smile. He was breaking through.

"And so you go to these extreme lengths to keep her with you? You'd do anything to have her by your side every moment of everyday. To hold her, see her smile, hear her laugh?"

Dean nodded slowly, his grip on Michelle's arm loosening.

"And you ask me why I came here?" Peter laughed. He felt Carla take his hand, and gently squeeze it encouragingly. "Why I'd go to such great trouble to find Carla, and bring her home with me? I think the answer is right in front of you. I'd go to the ends of the Earth for Carla if I could. Hell, I practically have done. And I know you'd do the same for Michelle. Or at least you would have done, years ago. Remember how desperate you were to see her again, that you cut her life short by 50 years? Remember how your heart broke when she told you she couldn't bear to stay here? But how you let her go all the same because you wanted nothing more than to see her happy again? I know that man is still in there. And I know that if he could see you now, he'd be horrified."

Dean sat silently for a moment, Peter's words settling in his mind. He turned to Michelle.

"Are you happy here? With me?"

He watched as she bit her lip and slowly shook her head, allowing the tears she'd held back to fall. He sighed, and released her wrist from his grip. He was shocked when she didn't rush away from him. Instead, she placed a hand on his knee.

"But Peter's right." She sniffed. "The man I fell in love with is still in there somewhere." She moved her hand from his knee to his chest. She felt his heart pulsing beneath her fingertips. "And I would happily stay with him."

Dean couldn't take his eyes away from hers. She stared at him with such intensity, he couldn't bring himself to break away.

"So you see, Dean," Peter continued, "The way I feel about Carla is the same way you feel about Michelle. That need, that desperation to be together all the time. That's why I need to take her home with me. I'm just like you. There's no way I could live without her."

"You're nothing like him..." Carla whispered, out of Dean's earshot.

"Do you want to go with him, Carla?" Dean asked, eyes still locked on Michelle's.

"More than anything." She breathed. "My life without Peter just isn't worth living."

Dean finally tore his eyes away from Michelle, his plan constructed. He turned to address the crowd, his exterior hardened once again.

"You can go." He stated.

Cheers filled the room, people hugging and sharing kisses. Peter pulled Carla into him, pressing his lips tenderly against hers. She allowed her eyes to flutter closed as their lips locked. They were broken apart only moments later by the sound of Dean clearing his throat, and silence befalling the room.

"Do you trust each other?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes." The pair answered in unison, both confident in their response.

"Good. Because there's one condition..."


	7. Chapter 7

"I don't understand. Is that really it?" Carla questioned. Dean nodded, a smug smile stretched across his face. "All I have to do is walk behind him, and he's just not allowed to turn round?"

"It's a long walk, darling." Dean grinned.

"And if he turns-"

"You'll come straight back here." Dean stated.

Carla swallowed, tentatively, nodding her head in understanding. She felt Peter's hand grasp hers and squeeze tightly. All they had to do was walk back to Weatherfield, one in front of the other, without Peter turning to check she was still following. How hard could it be?

"We can do it." Peter responded, refusing to give Dean the satisfaction of his insecurity. Dean chuckled.

"If you say so." He shrugged.

Peter could feel something niggling away at him. It wasn't that he didn't trust Carla. No, he knew that she'd follow him wherever he went. It was Dean he was worried about. What if he sent him off, and kept Carla back in the Underworld? What if there was no way out, and he sent them in a big circle only to arrive back here in several hours time? He was almost certain that it was some kind of trap.

But he had to try.

"When can we leave?" Carla asked.

"Does ten minutes sound okay?" Dean asked. The pair nodded. "You'll want to say your goodbyes to everyone, and probably each other too." He smirked. Peter simply glared at him. Carla shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

Tina was the first to approach Peter. She offered a small smile.

"Good luck." She stated. "I'm glad it all worked out for you both." Peter smiled, and nodded his gratitude.

Next came Aidan, emotional from having just said his goodbyes to Carla. "Look after her, Peter." He said, offering out a hand for him to shake.

"I will." Peter confirmed. He'd never been more certain of anything.

He felt a gentle hand on his back, and turned to find Hayley looking at him through watery eyes.

"You take care of her, Peter." She said. "And yourself of course."

As Carla finished her own goodbyes, she too turned to face Hayley.

"Now I know this isn't goodbye, because one day we will see each other again. Although I don't want it to be too soon!" She giggled. Carla took her hand, as tears began to fall. "Good luck Carla. I'll be seeing you..."

"Not if I see you first." Carla whispered, pulling her into a tight hug. As they pulled away, Carla turned her back, clearly not wanting to be seen so upset. Hayley took this as her cue to say a final goodbye to Peter. She pulled him into a hug.

"Thank you for everything, Hayley."

"No, thank you. Good luck Peter."

"I suppose it's just up to me to show you the way then..." Michelle stated, taking Carla's hand. Peter nodded, following them out of the room.

The trio approached the edge of the wall, where a large gate loomed over them. Ahead of it was a long, winding path, that looked to slope very gradually upwards.

"We don't need to say goodbye, because whatever happens, I'll still get to see you. Although I really hope it's not here." Michelle pulled Carla into a tight hug and whispered into her ear, too quietly for Peter to hear. He watched as Carla nodded in response, before pulling away and sniffling.

Michelle turned to Peter.

"Who'd have thought it, hey? You actually picking up on all those hints I dropped you in our lessons." She shook her head as she laughed. "I'm proud of you."

"Thank you..." He whispered, as she wrapped her arms around him. She pulled away, and turned to face the gate.

"You'll start as soon as you step through the gate. I won't watch you go, if that's okay?" She sniffed. Peter and Carla nodded their understanding. "Take all the time you need. You can do this." She smiled, before turning and walking quickly away, bringing her hand up to her mouth to contain the panicked breaths that were threatening to overcome her.

Carla and Peter gazed up at the gate and each took a deep breath.

"We're really doing this..." Carla breathed in disbelief. Peter nodded.

"Yep."

Carla turned towards him, taking his hand. She let out a shaky breath.

"Listen, Peter. If we don't make it, I need-"

"We will make it." He stated firmly. He didn't want to think about the alternative.

"We might not, Peter..." She whispered. He tried to hide the hurt he felt, knowing that she doubted whether or not they could do it. Whether _he _could do it. "And if we don't, I need you to promise me that you won't do anything stupid."

Peter scowled, confused by her choice of words.

"Carla, I-"

"You have to stay off the sauce and move on with your life, okay? I don't want you throwing it all away on my account. Please, just promise you'll do that for me."

"It won't come to that."

"But it might. You have to think of Simon: of your dad; even Tracy if you have to." The corner of her lip twitched upwards ever so slightly.

"But baby-"

"Peter, please!"

"Okay... Okay, I promise."

Carla wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, leaning her body into him. He enveloped her in his arms, making the most of this moment. They had a long walk ahead of them.

As Carla pulled away, Peter cupped her face in his hands. His eyes trailed over her skin, taking in every detail: every line, every blemish, every freckle. He took note of those piercing green eyes, slender cheek bones and full lips. He wanted to remember every millimetre of what he saw before him. He allowed his hands to drop, and took her in as a whole for the final time.

"Are you ready?" Carla whispered. Peter nodded his response.

"I love you." She said, taking a deep breath.

"I love you too."

"Here goes nothing." She stated, as Peter pushed open the gate, and took a step through.

* * *

The most notable thing Peter picked up on as soon as he began to walk was the deafening silence surrounding the path. There was nothing to be heard except his own breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. There were no birds singing, no trees rustling, and, most alarmingly, no footsteps.

He stopped for a brief moment, giving her the time he thought she needed to catch up. Closing his eyes, he pictured her face: the glimmer of hope behind her eyes, cheeks flush with anticipation.

Seeing her face in his mind gave him the determination to continue on. One foot in front of the other: onwards and upwards.

He was desperate for a sign: something that could tell him she was still there. He paused again, just for a second, listening intently for the sound of her footsteps.

The silence was deafening.

He took a deep breath and clamped his eyes shut, resisting the overwhelming urge to turn. Was she still there? Had she even followed him to begin with?

He set off again, his pace faster than it had been before. The thought of Dean smugly tormenting her for eternity if he failed fuelled his determination. He wouldn't let her down. He couldn't.

With every moment that passed, every step he took, the path ahead seemed even longer than it did before. The urge to sneak a look over his shoulder threatened to consume him. He needed a distraction.

Glancing ahead, there was nothing but the pathway they were on. He let out a frustrated sigh. There was absolutely no sign of life: no indication that they were any nearer to home than when they started.

He took a deep breath.

"Come on, Carla. We can do this." He stated, firmly: not allowing the doubt to creep into his voice. The sound fell flat in the dead air surrounding him. He waited for the response he knew wasn't going to come.

Even though he expected it, the silence disheartened him. She'd normally have some jibe to throw back at him: a snarky comment about how he was always running off ahead, forgetting that she can't keep up in those heels.

Peter found himself chuckling at the thought of Carla's flushed cheeks, a look of feigned irritation spread across her face. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, allowing the memory to spur him on.

* * *

_"Peter!" Carla called out, trying to manoeuvre her way down the rocky path Peter had taken swiftly only moments before. "Peter, wait for me!" She huffed, as the unsuitably high heel of her shoe got caught in yet another crack in the pathway. She sighed, yanking her ankle up and freeing the shoe, before continuing downwards._

_As she reached the edge of the path, she found Peter waiting. She let out a huff, and crossed her arms across her front._

_"Don't do that again." She stated firmly, the look of irritation on her face unable to hide the glint in her eyes._

_"Do what?" Peter asked, innocently. Carla shot him one of her famous glares._

_"Go off ahead of me like that. You know I can't keep up in these." She stated, gesturing to the black stilettos clinging to her feet. Peter smiled._

_"Sorry, love. I just had to check everything was as I left it." He grinned. Carla furrowed her eyebrows in confusion._

_"Peter, I thought we were going out for dinner. That's why I put these stupid shoes on. Why are we in the middle of nowhere?"_

_"You'll see..." Peter said, grinning smugly. For the first time since they'd reached their destination, Carla glanced up._

_The grassy bank beneath their feet dipped slightly, merging into the stones at the water's edge. The lights from the village on top of the cliff on the opposite side of the Dordogne had begun to twinkle on as the sun set over the trees in the distance: the orangey-yellow orbs appearing to dance on the water, as the light waves rippled their reflection._

_Carla let out a breath. The serenity of the area washed over her, and she instantly forgot about her annoyance. She allowed her eyes to drift closed, the sound of the water lapping against the river bank, of waves rolling over one another, filled her ears. She felt Peter's arm crawl around her waist and allowed her eyes to open once more._

_"Beautiful, isn't it..." He whispered. She nodded in reply. "Follow me." He said, using his arm to guide her further along the bank._

_It was only several metres along that they walked. Carla stopped, breath catching in her throat as she laid eyes on the sight before her._

_Set slightly back from the river itself was an alcove that dipped into the hill. Upon the grass sat a tartan blanket, lined with candles. A basket overflowing with treats sat beside it, with two glasses and a bottle of citron pressé laying in the centre. The branches of the surrounding trees were adorned with lanterns, casting a flickering light across the area below._

_"Oh, Peter..." She breathed. He smiled back, proudly, motioning for her to take a seat on the blanket. She kicked off her shoes, following his directions, and began to unscrew the lid of the bottle as he sat down between her and the picnic basket._

_He reached into the basket, before pulling out a bunch of red roses._

_"For you, madam." He said, in a mock posh accent. She smirked._

_"Tacky..." She teased, taking them from him. It had become somewhat of a joke between the two of them to buy each other roses, both of them believing them to be tacky and predictable._

_Despite this, she laid them neatly down beside her, reminding herself to put them in water as soon as they got back to the apartment._ _She watched as Peter pulled out numerous containers from the basket, all full of treats for them to consume: olives, bread, jambon, melon, and an assortment of cheeses from the local area._

_"Looks delicious." Carla enthused, sliding a knife into the block of camembert, her stomach growling at the sight of the soft cheese oozing out as she broke through the skin._

_"I got it all fresh from the market this morning." Peter explained. "Except the bread. I got that from that little boulangerie in the village. You know, the nice one on the corner."_

_"So that's where you went..." Carla nodded, finally putting the pieces of the puzzle together._

_When she'd awoken that morning and reached over to wrap an arm around Peter, she found the bed next to her empty: the sheets pulled up neatly, pillow freshly plumped._

_"Yeah. I was out preparing all of this. You don't even want to know how much I spent on candles!" He chuckled. Carla smiled, shaking her head._

_"You really didn't have to, you know. I'd have been happy with that little restaurant in the village." She insisted. Peter shrugged._

_"I wanted to treat you. Make this holiday one to remember." Carla reached for Peter's hand, holding it tightly in hers. She sat for a moment, simply looking at him. After a few moments, he began to blush._

_"What?" He chuckled. Carla shook her head._

_"What did I ever do to deserve you?" She whispered. Peter grinned, draping an arm over her shoulder._

_"I think it's me who should be asking that." He laughed. He paused for a moment, his face falling into a frown. "I really screwed it up last time. I don't want-"_

_"Peter. I don't care about what happened in the past. I want us to focus on our future. I never want us to be apart again." She said, softly, leaning into him._

_"Me neither. I don't know what I'd do without you, Carla."_

_"Well, I'm not planning on either of us having to find out."_

* * *

As Peter focused his attention back on the path ahead, he felt even more determined than ever. He had already covered a fair distance, and he was pretty sure he could just about make out the end of the path on the horizon.

_I'm not planning on either of us having to find out._

Carla's words ricocheted through his mind, over and over. There was no way she wouldn't be following him. She wanted this as much as he did, he was sure of that now.

There was no sign of her physically: no footsteps, no breathing. But he knew she was there. She had to be.

He wandered on, one foot after the other, further and further towards their destination: towards their freedom. He had so many plans for them. More holidays, just the two of them, in the south of France. Perhaps they'd even take Simon one day.

Maybe they'd even get the chance to have another little baby of their own.

Whatever they decided to do, he knew that together they would be happy.

He wished he could just turn around: talk to her, tell her how much she meant to him. But he couldn't. He'd have to show her instead.

He kept going, on and on, each minute seeming to pass slower than the last. Remembering that evening in France had given him hope: reminded him of what he had to fight for.

But the longer he walked, the more distant the memory seemed.

He stopped once more. Waiting and listening. There was still nothing. He took a deep breath, and, pursing his lips, began to whistle a melody.

He hoped she was there to hear it. He needed her to know that they'd get through this. That he was thinking of her: thinking of them.

He started to walk again, continuing to whistle the tune of their song. A few metres further, and he swapped the whistle for words.

"Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars_..."_

* * *

_"Ta da!" Peter stated, showing off the guitar he'd purchased that morning._

_"Where the hell did you find that?" She quizzed, peering over her laptop at the tatty instrument he held in his arms. He furrowed his brow._

_"I picked it up at the vide grenier this morning!"_

_"The what now?"_

_"Vide grenier. It's the French equivalent of a car boot sale."_

_"Course it is..."_

_"It's a proper nice guitar. Barely cost anything. Just needs some new strings and a lick of paint and she'll be good as new!" He strummed his fingers across the strings, laughing as Carla's face distorted into one of horror at the god awful noise it made._

_"Have you considered how we're going to get that home? We've already got a full car! What with all the cheese for Johnny, and the wine for Chelle, and-"_

_"Carla, calm down! It's fine. There's plenty of room." He laughed, as Carla continued to type furiously._

_"Okay, if you're sure. I am not sitting with it on my lap for two days though, I can tell you that now."_

_Peter smirked, before pushing down on the lid of the laptop. Carla barely managed to move her fingers out of the way before it slammed closed._

_"What was that for?"_

_"I thought we agreed: no work on holiday." Peter raised an eyebrow. _

_"I am not working. I am wedding planning."_

_"I thought that was Chelle's job?" Peter questioned, wandering around to Carla's side of the breakfast bar as she lifted open her laptop once again._

_"I can't just leave her to do all of it, poor cow."_

_"Erm, then what are we paying her for?"_

_"Peter, haven't you got a guitar to be packing into the car?" She pointed out, beginning to type once again. Peter smirked._

_"Now where would be the fun in that?" He grinned, strumming the guitar once more. He laughed as Carla grimaced._

_"You couldn't make that sound any worse if you tried." She groaned._

_"Oh I could..." He teased, raising his hand to strum once again. Carla slammed her hand against the strings, blocking him from causing anymore discomfort to her ears._

_"Peter, please. I am trying to sort out the entertainment."_

_"What do we need that for? I can do it." He taunted. He jumped out of the way of Carla's hand, strumming random chords on the guitar once again. This time, he paired it with his voice, singing "Fly Me To The Moon" over his mish-mash of chords. Carla let her head drop into her hands._

_"God Peter, please stop!" She whined, hands pressing against her ears. "That'd be enough to make the whole congregation head home."_

_He continued to sing at the top of his voice, ignoring her pleas for him to stop._

_"Peter! You are ruining our song!" She cried. He paused, looking her dead in the eyes._

_"You think it's our song?" He asked, his voice soft._

_"Well, yeah. Don't you?"_

_"Of course I do! I just didn't think you did too."_

_"Well, I do."_

_"Good..."_

_"You're still not entertaining at our wedding. Absolutely not."_

_Peter put on a mock frown._

_"I bet you'd let Michelle sing if she asked."_

_"Peter, Michelle can actually sing. No offence babe, but you're tone deaf."_

_"What if I learned to sing?" He pushed. "For you."_

_"Someone would have to work a miracle." She laughed. "The day you learn to sing will be the day I can promise never to leave you." She teased._

_"Not even for that hunky french waiter from the restaurant last night?" He asked, raising an eyebrow: a smirk set upon his lips._

_"Not even for him."_

_"You're on."_

* * *

The path beneath Peter's feet was beginning to narrow, and every so often a cobble poked its way out between the gravel, becoming more frequent the further he walked. They were getting closer.

As he finished the song, he noticed a sudden change in the atmosphere. A slight breeze tickled his skin, raising goosebumps on his arms, and the sound of birds singing in the distance filled his ears.

"We're nearly there!" He exclaimed aloud. He could picture her face in his mind: encouraging and hopeful. It was enough to push him further on.

With each step he gained more speed, desperate for the journey to be over. Desperate to hold her, safe in the knowledge that they'd never be separated again.

The ground beneath his feet was now fully cobbled, a sure sign that the end was near. He glanced up, and spotted a gate at the end of the path. He couldn't contain the smile on his face. They were only metres away.

His pace quickened, and he broke out into a run.

As his hands fell upon the wrought iron of the gate, he let out a deep breath. He fumbled with the latch, finally pushing it open and emerging onto the street.

He stood, doubled over, catching his breath for a moment. Straightening up, the realisation hit him. They'd made it.

He spun around, a beaming smile spread wide across his face.

Only the look of horror on hers wiped it clean.

"Carla..." He whispered, eyes widening as she froze on the spot, a foot away from the exit of the Underworld.

He'd turned too soon.

Before he could register what had happened, the gate slammed shut, trapping Carla on the other side.

"Peter!" She cried, stumbling forward and pressing her body against the gate. She tugged desperately at the metal. It wouldn't budge.

He ran towards her, feeling sick to the stomach. She reached out to him between the iron bars, desperate for him to hold her one more time. Her fingers clung to his jacket, as she sank to the ground. He followed, falling to his knees on the opposite side of the gate.

"I'm so sorry..." He whispered, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe.

Carla leant her forehead against the railings, her tears spilling onto Peter's coat. His were quick to follow.

The sight of Dean approaching them from the path they'd just taken: a smug expression on his face, eyes blazing in victory, caused Peter to slam his eyes shut. He couldn't bring himself to watch.

He tried to focus on the image of Carla he had imprinted into his mind earlier on: the hopeful smile and gleaming eyes. Instead, all he could see was that horrified look: the realisation that she'd lost him forever; that they would never be able to hold one another again.

But he knew that even seeing that image would be better than watching what was really happening.

He felt her grip on his arm loosen; heard her cries become louder. He listened as her begging and pleading morphed into screams.

He kept his eyes closed and tried to tune out the sound getting quieter as Dean dragged her away.

He'd let her down again. He couldn't bear it.

He sat slumped against the gate for the longest time, his eyes still closed: mourning the loss of his lover; of his future. He was oblivious to anything going on around him. It felt as though nothing could ever matter again. What was the point in life without her?

He felt a slender hand rest gently on his shoulder, but kept his eyes closed. Perhaps if he didn't open them, he could pretend that it was her.

He felt the small figure try to pull him up, struggling against his grip on the gate. Reluctantly, he climbed to his feet, eyes still tightly closed.

"I'm so sorry, Peter." She said, unable to hide the sorrow in her own voice as she wiped a tear delicately from his cheek. The sound of her voice confirmed what he'd dreaded, and slowly, he allowed his eyes to slip open.

"She's really gone isn't she?" He sniffed. Michelle nodded sadly. He collapsed into her, as she wrapped her arms tightly around him, and allowed him to sob into her shoulder.

"I'm sorry..." She repeated, not knowing what else she could possibly say.

After several long minutes, he pulled away.

"What am I supposed to do now?" He whispered. Michelle stood taller, quietly pushing down her own grief in an attempt to help him.

"You go and see Simon. You take care of him, and yourself and you carry on; exactly like she would have wanted." She stated firmly.

Peter nodded. He felt completely numb. He knew he'd never be the same again. This was it for him now. Slowly, he began to walk down the street: back towards his flat. The flat they'd shared together. The flat she would never step foot in again.

"Peter..." Michelle called. He stopped, unable to bring himself to turn around to face her.

"I won't let her forget you."


	8. Epilogue

Simon slammed the car door and raced through the double doors at the entrance of the building, following the instructions he'd been given over the phone. Straight down the corridor, up the first set of stairs and to the left. He practically ran down the hall, almost bumping into a young family on his way past. He mumbled an apology, before focusing on the signs above his head.

He came crashing through the door and onto the ward, glancing around curtains for a familiar face. Finally, he spotted her.

She noticed him as he approached, and rose from her chair beside the bed. She offered him a comforting but weary smile.

"Am I too late?" Simon panicked, as she took hold of his arm to steady herself. She shook her head.

"He's just resting." She smiled lightly, offering Simon her seat. He refused it, instead helping her back down, his grip firm but supportive on her frail arm.

"Thank god." He said, before turning to the patient. "Hi dad. It's me, Simon..." He said, taking hold of Peter's hand. He stirred slightly at the sound of his sons voice, his eyes opening just a crack.

"Hi Si..." He mumbled, squeezing his hand lightly, as much as his frail state would allow.

"How are you doing?" Simon questioned, unsure of what he should say in the given circumstance.

They'd known this was coming for a while. At the grand old age of 93, it was a surprise to everyone that Peter was still around. But over the past few days, his condition had drastically deteriorated, and the family had been told to prepare for the worst.

"C... C..." Peter struggled to get the word out. Simon's eyes widened in concern, unable to understand what it was his dad was trying to say. He felt a hand rest gently against the small of his back.

"Why don't you go and get us all a drink, Si?" She suggested, softly.

Simon glanced back towards Peter, who nodded weakly in agreement. He gave his hand a gentle squeeze, before heading off towards the vending machine.

Peter allowed his head to fall to the side, trying once more to form the words he was desperate to get out.

"Car... Carla?" He questioned.

"She's waiting for you, Peter." Michelle smiled, softly. He sighed, a small smile drawing on his own lips. "She's ready for you. Whenever you want to go, you go."

He found comfort in her words of encouragement. He'd lived a long life without Carla by his side; keeping on the straight and narrow only to appease her wishes. Of course, it hadn't been easy, but with Michelle keeping an eye on him, he'd managed forty years without her. He wasn't sure he could leave it much longer.

However, it wasn't just him he had to think about. Over the years, he and Simon had bonded even closer than before, the latter becoming all of a sudden protective over his father following Carla's death. Peter had never told him the truth about where she was now. He wasn't even sure he'd believe it himself, had he not relived it in his sleep every night since.

"What about Si?" He stuttered out, a pained expression crossing his face. Michelle placed a hand on his, gently stroking the back of his hand with her thumb.

"I'll take care of him while I can. He's a man now, Peter, with a family of his own." She pointed out, softly.

Peter sighed, nodding slightly, before relaxing his head back on the pillow and allowing his eyes to drift closed.

Simon rounded the corner, three takeaway cups filled with coffee balanced precariously against each other between his hands, and felt his heart rate quicken at the sight of his father's eyes closing.

"Dad?" He questioned, placing the cups down on the bedside table and taking Peter's hand once again.

"Mmhmm?" Peter mumbled.

"I love you..."

* * *

Peter's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked several times to try and get the world around him into focus. He glanced at the scenery surrounding him. Tall, green trees towered over him, whilst, at their roots, bushes adorned with bright red roses flowered in abundance. He glanced towards the sky, noting with a chuckle the large stretch of nothingness that stood in its place.

It wasn't fear he felt upon entering the Underworld a second time. No, this time it felt different. It felt right. This place, that had haunted his nightmares for forty years, suddenly felt more like a home than Coronation Street ever had.

A hand on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts. He turned, glancing up into the youthful face of the woman he'd watched grow old alongside him.

"Chelle?" He questioned, staring in confusion at the face he only recognised now from photos. Michelle raised an eyebrow.

"What?" She laughed, taking a seat beside him on the bench.

"You look so young..." He stated, eyes fixed on her amused expression.

"We don't age in the Underworld, Peter. That's why we're stuck here for eternity." She mocked, melodramatically. He rolled his eyes.

"But..." He began, suddenly concerned. If people didn't age in the Underworld, then that would mean Carla was still in her forties. Yet here he was, a 93 year old man. Would she recognise him? Would she still want to be with him?

"Peter, don't worry." Michelle laughed, sensing his concern. She nodded towards where his hands were sat in his lap. He glanced down, taking in the sight of his palms: calloused, but free of the wrinkles old age had brought. He let out a relieved sigh.

"How-"

"When you came to the Underworld all those years ago, you cemented yourself in time, if you will. That version of you has always been here, hidden away, awaiting your return." She explained. He looked confused. "Basically, by breaking in all those years ago, you did yourself a favour."

Peter thought for a moment, examining Michelle's expression closely.

"How was your journey, anyway?" She asked.

"My what?"

"You know, your trip down here. Much easier than last time, I'd imagine."

Peter furrowed his brow as he tried to recall the moments that had led him to this point. He remembered the hospital: slowly falling asleep with Simon's hand resting in his own. And that was it. He didn't know how he'd got here.

"I don't know. I can't remember." He stated, a frown fixed on his face. Michelle offered a him a light smile.

"Good. That's the way it's meant to be." She nodded. Peter frowned.

"Then why did you ask?" He quizzed. She paused.

"I don't know. Making conversation, I guess." She shrugged, crossing her arms defensively. "Can we not start bickering already, we've got to put up with each other for eternity now, remember..."

"Right..." Peter glanced at the path in front of them, which no doubt led deeper into the Underworld. Throughout his entire interaction with Michelle, he'd been side-eyeing the path, waiting for someone to appear. The only person he cared about seeing. He couldn't wait any longer.

"Where's Carla?" He questioned, his attempt at hiding his disappointment failing miserably. Michelle softened.

"I was wondering when that would come up." She teased. She rose to her feet, beckoning him to follow. She began to wander down the path, Peter hot on her heels.

"I haven't told her you're coming. Thought it would be a nice surprise." She explained.

"Where is she?" Peter asked, a burning desire ignited in his stomach. Forty years he'd waited for this moment. Forty long and lonely years, wondering what life would have been like had he only succeeded in bringing her home.

"She'll be by the wall. Waiting for you, like usual." Peter felt his heart flutter. She still remembered him; longed for him.

As the pair rounded the corner, Peter eyes fell upon what he considered to be the most beautiful sight of his life. Her familiar brunette curls fell effortlessly down her back as she focussed on the spot of the wall in front of her. The spot where, forty years previous, they had been reunited.

"Go wait by that tree." Michelle whispered, motioning to a large oak at the edge of the path. Peter followed her instructions, grinning widely as he went.

Michelle cleared her throat, sending Carla spinning round in her direction. She let out a disappointed sigh as her eyes fell on her friend.

"Oh, it's you." She said, eyes falling to the ground in front of her.

"Charming!" Michelle teased in mock offence. "How many times do I have to tell you, he's not going to come through the wall again, babe."

"You don't know that." Carla shot, turning her attention back to the brickwork.

"Oh, I do." Michelle grinned. Slowly, Carla turned once more: the certainty in her friend's voice setting off sparks inside her.

"Is he here?" She whispered, not daring to say the words aloud in case it somehow made them untrue.

"Surprise!" Michelle smiled, as Peter emerged from behind the tree.

He'd barely had time to register the look on her face before she'd flung herself into his arms. He held her close to him: her head resting against his chest, his cheek against her head; eyes closed and relishing the moment. They were so wrapped up in each other that they didn't notice Michelle slipping away.

When Carla finally stood up, Peter took her face in his hands. A single tear trickled out of the corner of her eye, and she bit her lip as he wiped it away with the soft pad of his thumb.

"Hey." He whispered. She giggled.

"Hey."

"I've missed you so much." He said, shaking his head. "I never stopped thinking about you. Not once." She smiled, softly, bringing her hand up to rest on his, before curling her fingers around his and slowly guiding them around her waist.

"You did it." She whispered, a smile breaking out across her lips.

"Did what?" He replied.

"You carried on. You didn't drink. You made a life for yourself. Chelle told me about everything you've done. Running the factory, giving your grandchildren a decent future."

"Our grandchildren." Peter corrected. "I told them all about you. They know what an incredible woman their Granny Carla was." He said. Carla laughed, shaking her head.

"I'm sure Leanne was thrilled with their names..." She giggled.

"She got over it. She was lucky they chose Carla-Leanne. She was very nearly Carla-Deidre." He laughed.

"Well, it is usually the dead relatives that are supposed to be the namesakes, so it was only fair..." She smiled. "I'm so proud of you, baby." She added, her tone serious once more.

"I did it for you." He whispered. "I wanted to make sure your legacy lived on. That you were never forgotten."

"You're the only one I care about..." She said. Leaning forward, she placed a delicate kiss against his lips. "Come on then..." She mumbled, as she pulled away.

"Where are we going?" He asked, snaking his arm around her waist, pulling her body close to him.

"Anywhere we want. We've got all the time in the world." She smiled up at him, brightly. As she did so, her eyes lit up, sending Peter's heart fluttering.

"Looks like you're stuck with me forever now..." He grinned, as they started down the path.

"Just the way we always wanted."

As they wandered down the path, arms wrapped around each other, basking in their new found freedom, a strange and sudden feeling of familiarity washed over Carla.

As her forty years in the Underworld had passed, she had all but forgotten her previous life. Only the things Michelle had told her since stuck with her. But one thing she'd never forgotten was the love she felt towards Peter. She knew that she needed him to feel complete. To make everything worthwhile.

And yet, as they meandered down the path, she was struck by a sudden memory. The memory of a day she hadn't been able to recall in forty years. The day they'd held each other's hands and took the vows that would bind them together for eternity. The day they had promised never to part. The day they were cruelly ripped from each other's arms. The day that had led them to this very moment.

_"I will hold you forever. The winds will never change on us. And as long as we stay with each other, it will always be like this..."_

THE END


End file.
